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helnjk · 3 years

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A Change of Scenery - C.W.

Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Requested: yes!

omg hi! I just saw the fanart of the oldest Weasley brothers(🥵🥵🥵) and was hoping you could do a Charlie x reader thing? Maybe the reader is a healer at the sanctuary and Charlie doesn't mind getting hurt because he gets to see her but she literally has no idea he adores her till he spells it out. With promt 42 of your list maybe? Totally cool if you want to leave it out 😁 love you and your work! -🍄

“what the hell were you thinking?”

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: moving to romania for your absolute dream job, you did not expect to meet a cheeky, flirty redhead along the way.

Warnings: mentions of injuries, food, & drinks. charlie is a dragon tamer, reader is a healer, of course he’s going to end up with a few cuts and bruises.

A/N: god i love charlie weasley with all of my heart. that is all.

prompt is in bold

Being connected to and living somewhere very in tune with the earth had always been a dream of yours. It just so happened that your new job had you transferred to the perfect place: Romania.

Sure, it was quite far from England and had quite a different culture, but the beauty of the mountains and the picturesque scenery made up for it. The fact that you were also working in one of the best medical wings in the country, on a dragon reserve on top of that, was basically your dream come true.

“Alright, and this right here is your station,” announced the head healer, who insisted you call him Gerry, gesturing to a decently sized office space. “You can decorate it anyway you like, as long as it’s appropriate. Most of the folks around here aren’t locals either, so we’ve got loads of photos up and lots of owls coming in and out everyday.”

“It’s perfect,” you grinned.

Gerry left you alone to get settled, and you didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but the first thing you did once he was out of earshot was to squeal excitedly and do a little happy dance.

It was just all too exciting, really. Dream job, dream location, dream view even. After your burst of excitement, you spent a bit of time just staring out of the window, taking in everything. In the distance, you could even see the silhouette of a dragon peeking over the canopy of trees. The fact that this was going to be a regular occurrence just spurred even more delight in your heart.

Later in the day, after most of the introductions were made and tours were finished, you could be found familiarizing yourself with the medical wing of the sanctuary.

“C’mon Gerry, I’m completely fine!” you heard a gruff voice complain. It was coming from the hallway outside, but the accompanying footsteps sounded as if they were on the way to the wing.

“You know it’s protocol, Weasley,” a very amused Gerry replied as they rounded the corner.

Beside your boss was one of the most gorgeous men you had ever laid eyes on. With wind ruffled hair the color of sunsets and lightly tanned skin, you almost didn’t notice the small, almost inconspicuous limp he was sporting. It also took you a few seconds to realize that he was probably one of the dragon tamers of the reserve, the first one you were going to meet and treat, it seemed.

“Ah, Healer L/N, perfect!” Gerry called out to you, “This is Charlie Weasley, one of our on-site dragon tamers.”

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled, holding out his hand for you to shake.

“You too,” you said in reply, trying not to think about how warm and calloused his hand was in yours.

“His leg got swiped by the tail of a Chinese Fireball,” Gerry explained as he motioned to the leg that Charlie wasn’t putting much of his weight on.

You could see the redhead roll his eyes, “Honestly, I’ll be fine! This has happened more times than you know.”

Despite his best efforts, both you and Gerry managed to get Charlie to take a seat on one of the beds that lined the wall. With a sigh, he rolled up his trousers just enough for you to see the area of the wound.

“Lucky for you, treating this doesn’t take much time,” you smiled. Swiftly, you took your wand out and muttered the correct incantation, “There. Good as new!”

“If I get to be under the care of Ms. L/N here, I wouldn’t mind getting injured more often,” he flirted, sending you a cheeky wink.

Gerry just guffawed a loud belly laugh, patting Charlie on the shoulder fondly, “Don’t you go running off with one of my best healers now, Weasley. We just got her!”

“Don’t worry, Gerry,” you smiled, “I think this one’s too injury-prone to run anywhere.”

–

As the last work day of your first week at the reserve was coming to an end, you were surprised to see Charlie Weasley knocking on the open door to your office.

“Hey,” you said, sending him a small smile.

“Hey,” he parroted, stepping inside.

“Anything I can help you with?” you asked over your shoulder while putting away the last of your files and slipping out of your healer robes, “You’re not injured again are you?”

Behind you, Charlie gulped as he saw the little sundress you wore underneath. His head spun at the sight of your exposed legs and he nearly forgot what he was about to say.

“Nah I’ve got a better track record than that, thankfully,” he chuckled. Doing his best to keep the calm facade he had going on, he leant against the doorframe as he asked, “Got any plans tonight? I was wondering if you’d fancy getting a bite to eat.”

You were caught off guard by how nonchalant and straightforward his invitation was.

“Is this your way of asking me on a date?” you asked, finally turning around to face him once again.

He raised an eyebrow, “Do you want it to be? Because I just wanted to be a nice person and show you around Romania, but if you’re looking for a date…”

“Oh shut it, Weasley,” you groaned, “The tab is on you tonight, then.”

Charlie sent you a grin as you strode out of your office. Despite your faux-annoyance, you were happy to have someone show you around. Being a healer was your dream job, but it did have some setbacks. Obviously, you were needed at the medical wing of the reserve for the majority of the week and that didn’t give you much time to familiarize yourself with the town and the people.

Because of how remote the reserve was, most staff and employees lived on site. There was a designated area for the many different cabins and living quarters. To give you more of a tour of the little Romanian town nearest the reserve, Charlie offered to side-along apparate you.

You could feel heat creep up your neck and spread along your cheeks as you gripped firmly on to his muscular arm.

The sun was just about to set and cast gorgeous hues of orange and pink across the sky as the two of you landed just outside the town. Charlie led you along, showing you where the most important areas were; you saw the town square, the little street bazaars, and the most popular eating places.

By the time the pair of you got to one of his favorite restaurants, a quaint little place in one of the sidestreets, your cheeks were sore from laughing too much. After the initial awkwardness as you tried to navigate topics that interested the both of you, you found yourselves chatting away animatedly.

“Yeah, Fred and George were an absolute nightmare when they were little,” he chuckled, fondly recalling the many times he and his older brother Bill were left to babysit their younger siblings, “But they’re great. They’ve got a shop in Diagon Alley now, selling prank products of all things. It’s wild.”

“Your family sounds absolutely lovely,” you said. It warmed your heart seeing how his eyes lit up talking about them. “It must be so hard being so far away from everyone.”

He nodded slightly before taking a sip of his drink, “Definitely. My first year here was such a big transition. I’m lucky I get to go home every so often.”

There was a lull in the conversation as you dug into your food, but it was far from the awkward silence you were expecting.

Maybe working in Romania wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

–

“Why is it that when you get hurt, I’m always the healer on call?” you sighed playfully as Charlie walked through the door of the medical wing.

It was the fourth week in a row he had to come and get something patched up. They weren’t major injuries, thankfully, but you had come to learn that the dragon tamers were required to know how to perform the basic healing spells. The things Charlie would come in for were almost always resolved with a quick episkey.

“You know me,” he joked, taking a seat on one of the empty beds, “Always so accident prone.”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes.

Still, with your wand in hand, you gestured for him to show you where the injury was.

“I’ve got two things today,” he began. You raised your eyebrows in response. “This is the first.”

Charlie quickly rolled the sleeve of his top, his toned arm flexing at the movement. In all the time you had worked at the reserve, which wasn’t that long at all, you still hadn’t gotten used to how fit he was. A quick intake of breath had you re-centering and focusing on the task at hand. There was a small burn on his forearm, not enough to cause too much concern.

You cast the charm quickly so as not to be distracted further, “There, all done.”

“There’s still one more place that’s hurt Y/N.”

By the way Charlie spoke, you knew he was up to something. Inwardly you sighed, “Alright, let’s get to it then.”

Your heart seemed to stop as he began to unbutton the first few buttons of his top.

“What’re you doing, Weasley?” you asked, trying your hardest to keep your composure as you got a peek of his very toned chest.

With a dramatic sigh, Charlie leant back and pointed to an area above his chest, “My heart hurts, Y/N.”

For a moment you just stared at him, looking absolutely ridiculous in the position he chose to don, eyes blinking owlishly. Truthfully, you didn’t know whether to laugh or to send the strongest stinging hex in his direction.

“Charlie Weasley, you thank Merlin and Morgana right now that I’m not hexing your balls off,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I’m being serious, Y/N!” he continued, “I don’t know if I’ll survive this!”

“Pity, does that mean I’m losing my ticket to free weekly meals?” she joked, already turning on her heel to get back to what she had been doing before he entered the wing.

There were sounds of shuffling as if Charlie had gotten back up on his feet again and then, “Definitely not! I’m banking on those meals, one of these days you’re going to be begging me for an actual date. You’ll see.”

“Keep dreaming, Weasley.”

You sent the redheaded dragon tamer a sarcastic smile, but he just sent you a flirty wink in reply.

–

“Code white. Need extra hands in the medical wing ASAP.”

The shimmering white bloodhound soon dissolved into nothing as it delivered its message to you, early one morning. You had just gotten to work, not even in your healer's robes yet, when Gerry’s patronus appeared.

As you rushed to the medical wing, another patronus made an appearance and rattled off what had happened and who was hurt. Your heart dropped the moment you heard who you were going to be treating.

“Oh Merlin,” you whispered to yourself the moment you saw the state Charlie was in, “What did you get yourself into?”

In all the time you had been working at the reserve and as a healer in general, it was not unusual for you to treat severe injuries. In fact, you liked to think that when you were faced with someone’s life or quality of life in your hands, you worked even harder and smarter. However, seeing Charlie more battered and bruised than you had ever seen him made your heart pound loudly in your chest.

“Healer L/N, you’re right on time,” Gerry spoke to you clearly, rapidly explaining the situation and what you needed to do.

In a flash, you had your wand out and were muttering all the healing spells that came to mind alongside your head healer. You didn’t notice how you were holding your breath and clenching your wandless hand until you let out a sigh of relief when Charlie began to stir.

“He’s stable,” Gerry announced and released a breath.

You felt a soft pat on your shoulder as he left you to deal with the patient, deeming it alright for him to step out and get back to his other responsibilities. Carefully, you walked towards the redhead whose eyes were fluttering open.

“What the hell were you thinking, Weasley?” you murmured softly, your wand sweeping over him one last time to check is vitals. A soft hand reached out to push the stray strands of hair that had fallen in front of his face and you felt him lean into your touch.

“Y/N?” Charlie mumbled, his eyes still half-closed.

“I’m right here,” you said in reply.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to prop himself up but groaning in pain.

“What happened,” you began, going to help him get to the seated position he wanted to be in. He smiled up at you and you could barely remember what you were trying to say. With a small shake of your head and clearing of your throat you continued, “What happened was that you were being an absolute idiot who absolutely did not call for backup when a nesting mother was going on a rampage.”

Despite his obvious discomfort, Charlie had the audacity to chuckle slightly, “Sounds about right.”

“Don’t you dare do that to me again, Weasley,” you admonished, pulling back and shooting him the dirtiest stare you could muster. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. When I got Gerry’s patronus, all I could think about was–”

As if an electric jolt shocked you, you cut yourself off before anything else escaped your lips.

“Was what, Y/N?” he asked softly.

His eyes were shining with something you couldn’t quite name, but the sincerity in his face gave you pause.

You shook your head, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Instead of continuing to reprimand him for his foolishness, you busied yourself making sure he was comfortable and that everything was alright. The potions he needed to take later in the day and the different salves to be applied to his skin were placed on the bedside table. Pillows were summoned, fluffed, and placed behind him.

As you shuffled around the room, purposely ignoring the redhead, his eyes were trained on you.

The moment his eyes opened and he felt your hand brush gently across his face, he thought he had to have been dreaming. If it weren’t for the ache in his muscles and the sting of his burns, he would’ve believed that he was in some alternate reality wherein he woke up next to you every morning.

He was tired of waiting for his fantasies to come true, he decided.

“Y/N.”

The way he said your name sent shivers down your spine. Your whole body froze for a microsecond before you turned to face him.

“Yeah, Charlie?”

“Look at me please,” he begged.

With a deep breath, your eyes locked with his and you were almost blown away with the look on his face.

Sincerity pooled in his eyes as they scanned your face, trying to see if your own expression gave anything away. You felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to move or look away from him.

“Tell me what you were thinking,” he whispered gently.

It was now or never.

“All I could think about was how,” you gulped, taking a steadying breath, “How you could’ve died or gotten so hurt, when I hadn’t even had the chance to tell you how I felt about you.”

You could hear Charlie’s sharp intake of breath and you had to look away, unable to face the rejection you were ultimately going to hear.

“Y/N–”

“And, and I know that you don’t feel the same–”

“Y/N–”

“But, just seeing you lying there–”

“Y/N!”

Charlie’s voice rang through the whole wing, a sharp contrast to the otherwise silent space. You sucked in a deep breath, surprised.

“Y/N you have to know I’m absolutely mad for you,” he said clearly.

You blinked furiously at him.

“You-I, what?”

Charlie tried to reposition himself so that he could face you properly, but you could see that he was still in a bit of pain. Instead of letting him maneuver himself uncomfortably, you placed a soft hand on his shoulder before taking a seat by his legs.

Immediately, he went to take your hand in his. “I think you’re absolutely breathtaking, and talented, and passionate. I just haven’t had the balls to ask you out on a real date.”

“Then what are you waiting for, Weasley?” You offered him a small smile, glancing back down at your intertwined hands.

The smile he sent you left you breathless.

–

“You ready to go?” Charlie asked, leaning against the doorframe with his legs crossed just like when he had visited your office that first week.

A small grin inched its way on to your face at the sight of your boyfriend. His hair was just a tad bit windswept, adding to the rugged look he insisted he could pull off (and he definitely did, you just didn’t like feeding his ego too much).

“Just about,” you smiled. “Let me get out of these stuffy robes first.”

And, just like the first time he had knocked on the door to your office, you turned to shrug off your uniform and hang it up in one of the hooks beside your desk. Instead of keeping his thoughts to himself, Charlie grinned widely and whistled at the sight of you in your dress.

Just as you were about to chide him for being inappropriate, strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you backwards. A small ‘oof’ escaped your lips as your back made contact with Charlie’s strong chest.

“Charlie!” you slapped his arm lightly, “C’mon, I’m still at work!”

“What so I can’t show my girlfriend some appreciation for being absolutely drop dead gorgeous?” he mumbled, pressing soft kisses on the joint where your neck met your shoulders.

You rolled your eyes, “You know I love a good compliment. I would just rather you do it outside my place of work.”

With a chuckle, Charlie released his grip on your waist. “Alright, alright.”

“Just for that, the tab’s on you tonight, Weasley.”

“Ah so the usual, love?”

“Of course.”

Charlie held his hand out for you to take, and unlike the first time he took you out, you allowed yourself to blush, take his calloused hand in yours, and press a soft kiss on his lips.

–

General taglist: @expectoevans @george-fabian-weasley @gxthsanrio @slytherinscribbles @harpyloon @nuttytani @mesmerisedangel @amourtentiaa @sarcasticallywitty15 @lumos-barnes @cruciostyles @writingsomewrongs

Charlie taglist: @pinkypurplemagic @lifeofkaze @oldschoolkiddo

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley imagines #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley fics #charlie weasley fic #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x y/n #tw injury #tw food #tw meal mention

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

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The Slightest of Errors

Author: @taylerwrites

Prompt: hi my birthday is May 12 and my favorite trope is caught in the act. [Submitted by anonymous]

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Katniss writes secret erotica about her horrible boss. At the end of the workday, she unknowingly emails him one of her stories instead of the files he’d asked for. What could go wrong?

Author’s Note: This is a part one of two.

__________

Depending on who you ask, Katniss might have a bit of a problem.

Jo might say that she’s not social enough. Madge will probably point out that Katniss puts too much sugar in her coffee. And the IT guy would say that she spends an odd amount of time watching cat videos on her computer when she should be doing her job.

Regardless, it’s nothing life-alteringly serious, like getting married (she’d have to date for that to happen) or adopting an abundance of animals (which her landlord would kill her for). But she’ll admit it is maybe a curiosity… Although that might be putting it lightly.

Anyhow, she’s sort of developed an addiction to creative writing… in a way. If you can call writing debauched fantasies about your boss creative writing to make it sound less creepy, then sure, call it that. That’s what she tells herself when she’s in the middle of writing a filthy scene to help her feel better about the situation.

Just don’t think about it too much… She also likes to tell herself this too.

The thing is, she doesn’t know how it started, it just did. Kind of like stumbling upon a TV show that you didn’t think you’d like, but then it turns out to be great so you stick around for the next five seasons to see what happens next. It’s a similar concept, really. Except, she doesn’t know when the expiration date is on this—if there is one—and she’s creating her own questionable entertainment.

See, her boss is a nasty piece of work, anyone who’s been around him long enough would decipher that information instantly. It’s common knowledge around the office that if he’s in one of his moods, then it’s best that you remain unseen unless you want to deal with the 6’2” freight train blowing up in your face.

Unfortunately, as his personal assistant, Katniss can’t cower behind her computer screen or hide out in the women’s bathroom until he locks himself back in his office. No, she’s graced with a front-row seat to all of his furious outbursts, and later, gets the pleasure of calling the finance department to see how much it’ll cost to replace the fourth broken lamp that week. This week, they are up to seven broken lamps and one chair and it’s only Wednesday.

Part of her wonders when the office furniture company will run out of their supply of skinny bronze desk lamps, or if they simply make an exclusive supply for this office. Still, a new one always shows up, and she keeps her job.

She’s only been working for Mr. Mellark for seven months (that’s longer than the previous PAs he’s had Madge had told her), and somehow he seems to be worse ever since his recent girlfriend stormed through the office last week to make a grand display of her breaking up with him.

Katniss has known him long enough to grasp that he isn’t so much affected by the woman he’s only dated for a month breaking up with him, as he is that she decided to make a scene about it at his place of work. Particularly in front of half of the top floor staff, including a board member from the company merger meeting they had that day.

But Katniss doesn’t exactly fault him for still being embarrassed. She thinks she’d be the same way if her nonexistent boyfriend showed up at her desk and screamed all of the reasons why she made a horrible girlfriend.

Yeah… that’s actually very humiliating. Maybe she should make a mental note not to tell her next boyfriend where she works until she knows that it’s serious…

Still, it’s not justifiable enough for him to be an insufferable ass 24/7. Especially to her.

Anyway, she can say all of this is the only reason she creates attractive versions of her boss in the form of a sex god to smother the horrible image of him. But she knows some of it is that he actually is attractive, even if she’ll only admit this detail in writing.

On several occasions, she’s had to stop herself from simply staring during meetings while he held the attention of the entire room in his three-piece suit. He caught her once, and she nearly bumped the person beside her when she jumped before scrambling to type down what he said.

This was yet another instance where she couldn’t just scurry away. Instead, she later had to go over her notes with a red face while he studied her warily from the other side of his too wide desk.

Thank God she hadn’t opened the file with her stories in her haste to give him the information he needed and leave. That would have been mortifying and she’d surely be fired.

She won’t go into sordid detail about how messed up this probably is. Who writes stories (practically pornographic, to be more specific) about their boss to make them more likable?

Not a normal human being.

Yet, so far, it’s kind of working. Sometimes she forgets that she’s not supposed to like him when he’s commanding a room, using that tone that makes her knees weak and stomach coil… until he does something that reminds her that he’s not the charming character from her stories.

Because outside of the filth that is her fantasies, Peeta Mellark, ruthless CEO of one of the most successful companies in New York, would never want her.

And she shouldn’t want him either, still, here she is.

~~~~

‘His hands cup her breasts—’

Wait, no.

Katniss peeps up from her computer where she can see Mr. Mellark through his small office window, typing furiously against the keyboard on his Macbook—the poor keys clicking away under his thick fingers.

Glancing back at the document open on her screen, she changes the wording:

‘His large hands cup her breasts…’

When she’s satisfied with her changes, she leans back in her uncomfortable office chair and reads the rough draft. That sounds more accurate.

Although, maybe she should erase the part where she made his dick equally proportionate to his height. That’s just too presumptuous, right? Or would he be proportionate? She definitely hasn’t stared at his crotch long enough to know, and again, that would be a new line of weird she’s not ready to cross… Okay, maybe there was that one time, but it wasn’t on purpose! Where else was she supposed to look when he decided to put his waist in her line of sight?

“What are you doing?”

Katniss starts from the voice and looks up to see Jo leaning against her desk, giving her an odd expression.

“Uh…”

“I’ve been saying your name for at least two minutes,” Jo continues.

“Work,” she says quickly, minimizing the document on her screen when Jo leans over to see what exactly she’s been working on. “I’m doing work because we’re at… work,” she finishes lamely.

The tall brunette cocks her head, unconvinced. “Uh-huh, right. Are you coming to happy hour with us tonight? Or do you plan on wasting away behind your desk until the janitors sweep you into the trash bin?”

She glances over at Mr. Mellark who’s still hard at work on his computer. “Well, I normally have to stay until he’s done.”

Jo scoffs. “Why don’t you just ask if you can go home? It’s Friday and you look like you could use a drink. Plus, it’s the weekend.”

“Yeah, but technically, when he’s working, I’m working.”

“Really?” Jo frowns.

“It’s just one of the many perks of being his PA.”

“Sounds like a shitty perk.”

Katniss shrugs. “It pays well.”

Jo rolls her eyes. “I’m not leaving this spot until you at least attempt to leave early. Hike up your skirt and ask for the weekend off.”

“I don’t know, Jo.” Katniss bites her lip. “He’s in a good mood today.” As in he hasn’t broken any lamps… yet. Maybe her asking to go home would be the catalyst of lamp number twelve’s fate. The thought makes her feet feel like lead underneath her desk.

“Then what better day to ask him?”

She hesitates for a moment, wondering if a nice cold beer is worth instant rejection. However, her feet are killing her, so is her back from carrying one of Mr. Mellark’s suits all the way from the dry cleaners. Who would have thought that the clothes of a behemoth would weigh so much?

“Fine,” Katniss huffs then she points a finger in her friend’s direction. “Just so you know, if this goes awry, I’m blaming it on you.”

“Duly noted.” Jo grins slyly. “Now go on, make me proud.”

Katniss shoots her a withering look, before standing up from her desk and walking over toward Mr. Mellark’s office. Her mind races through all of the possible scenarios for how horribly wrong this can go as she straightens her pencil skirt. What’s the worst that can happen? That he tells her no?

Another steadying breath later and Jo telling her to hurry it up, she gives a tentative knock at the door—his characteristically deep voice beckoning: “Come in.” And then she steps inside where she’s immediately met with the familiar spicy scent of his cologne.

Mr. Mellark barely glances up from his computer when he sees who it is before he continues tapping at the keys on his keyboard. She regards that he looks a little less calm than he did thirty minutes ago if the vein throbbing in his temple is any clear indication. He’s also loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves to reveal his sinewy forearms (which she tries really hard not to stare at), something he only does when he’s steadily getting frustrated… or tired. Let’s hope that he’s merely tired.

Don’t chicken out, she tells herself. You deserve the night off.

When she doesn’t say anything right away, he’s looking up at her again, his expression stony and intimidating.

“What is it?”

Right.

“I finished scheduling your appointments for Monday. Snow has requested a conference call tomorrow to talk about the meeting for next week, and your aunt wants to schedule brunch on Sunday. And um—” Justaskjustaskjustask— “I was wondering if I could go home for the night, and have the weekend off.”

She waits to be told no or asked why she would propose such a stupid question. But then, something entirely unexpected happens.

“Just email me a copy of my call with Coin before you leave.”

She’s stunned into silence. Did he just—

“Is that all?” he asks.

Katniss bobs her head, not feeling like it’s the appropriate time to point out that he’s being rather… agreeable.

He goes back to work on his computer, a clear dismissal that she should take as her exit. But, of course, she can’t let things be.

It takes a moment of debating on whether she should tell him goodnight, or if that would come off as unusual since she’s never done it in the past. And yet, the words slip out of her mouth anyway. “Have a nice night, Sir.”

“Hm?” he says absently, too focused on whatever he’s working on in front of him.

She shifts where she’s standing near the door, pushing up her glasses that had slipped down her nose. “Uh, I said have a good night.”

He looks at her as if she just asked if the sky is blue, and she curses herself mentally for not leaving when she should have, watching as he runs a hand through his perfectly coifed blonde curls. And then he says something equally unanticipated—is there a way to find out that hell didn’t somehow freeze over?—“You too. Enjoy happy hour.”

“Thanks.”

She leaves him before she can come up with another idiotic gesture to test his good mood, scurrying out of his office and back to her desk to email him the files that he asked for. Katniss triple-checks the documents before she sends the email, then she closes down and turns off her desk lamp.

When she steps into the safety of the elevator, she finally releases the sigh that she’s been holding since she knocked on Mr. Mellark’s door.

Well, it looks like she’s work-free this weekend.

~~~~~

“So what did you have to do for boss man to let you leave?” Madge asks.

Katniss nearly chokes on her drink when Jo makes a lewd gesture with her mouth and hands from across the table. “Don’t be gross!”

She laughs. “What? You were in there for an awfully long time for a simple question.”

“I still had to do my job. Plus, I’m definitely not his type. Have you seen the women he dates? Has he ever dated anyone that isn’t a model?”

Madge frowns. “Was his last girlfriend a model?”

Katniss nods, taking a sip of her gin and tonic. “Cashmere Mathews. I had to do research on her to figure out what she’d be interested in for her birthday. I’ve never met someone who had a closet just for handbags.”

“Wait, wait,” Jo cuts in. “Are we just going to slide over the minor detail that you didn’t deny being interested in giving Peeta Mellark a blowjob?”

She averts her eyes from the two pairs staring back at her, feeling a flush creep up her neck. “Uh, he’s my boss.”

“So?”

Katniss makes a show of rolling her eyes again. “He’s our boss! Why are we even talking about this?”

She’s surprised when Madge shrugs. “Yeah, he’s our boss, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hot.”

Jo makes a sweeping gesture with her hand in front of her. “Thank you. Now, would you or would you not go down on our boss?” she asks Madge.

“I would.”

“Madge!” Katniss makes a face.

“What?” Madge laughs softly. “I was just being honest.”

Katniss glares at Jo. “Will you drop this already?”

“She was just answering the question, brainless. Now answer the question and I will let this go.”

She narrows her eyes. “Fine, I would. Happy?” And God only knows that’s not all she would do, but Jo doesn’t need to know that.

Jo seems to sit up a little straighter. “Oh, really?”

“You said you’d drop it,” she groans.

Thankfully, Madge saves her by changing the topic. “Is that Glimmer making out with Clove?” They all look over to the corner of the bar where the petite brunette has her tongue down the tall blonde’s throat. “Huh,” Madge hmphs. “I thought they hated each other.”

Jo takes a draft from her beer. “Trust me. You do not want to know how much they hate each other. My office shares a wall with Clove’s.”

“Yeah, well try catching them in the bathroom.” Madge shivers. “Sound is much louder in a room filled with tile.”

Katniss is pulled from the conversation when her phone vibrates on the table, and her eyes widen when she sees that she has one new message from World’s Worst Boss. She finds herself silently dreading (because she knew a weekend off was too good to be true) what it says as she unlocks her phone to read what he’s sent.

Meet me in my office tomorrow morning at 7. Don’t be late. – WWB

It could be nothing. Maybe he’s decided that he needs her for his call tomorrow. She did triple-check the files she sent… Didn’t she?

Of course, she did.

Yet, she can’t help but feel that maybe she missed something… She downs the rest of her drink, and replies: ‘Yes, Sir.’

She’s definitely in trouble.

~~~~

She feels ten times more nervous when she shows up the next morning to a completely empty office, aside from the soft glow of light coming from under Mr. Mellark’s door. In fact, she was so anxious that she decided to walk all six blocks to work in the hopes that it’ll burn off the edge she’s been feeling since last night.

No such luck.

Now she’s left with nothing but sore feet because she wore heels instead of her sensible flats. Even worse, she still managed to show up to work ten minutes early.

Katniss fiddles with the part of her blouse that is tucked into her skirt as she takes her time walking to Mr. Mellark’s door. She doesn’t even bother knocking when she’s there, because she’s the only one here and he’s obviously expecting her.

When she steps inside his office, he’s standing at the edge of his desk, dressed in the dark suit that she picked up from the dry cleaners yesterday. He doesn’t take his eyes off her as she softly closes the door behind her, and the first thing she notices is that he doesn’t seem upset. More importantly, the items in the room are intact. Although the look on his face is… intense—almost predatory.

“Come here.” His voice is a low gruff when he motions to the spot beside him.

“Okay,” she mumbles.

Mr. Mellark appears to be surprisingly… calm. Why is he so calm?

“Do you know why I asked you to come in today?” he asks, messing with a stack of papers in front of him.

She frowns, shaking her head. “No?”

“I asked you to email me the files from my call with Coin, remember?” She nods, unsure where he’s going with this. “Well, I printed off the files from that email, but then I noticed they weren’t exactly… what I asked for.” He watches her expectantly, and she shifts under the weight of his stare until she realizes that maybe he’s hinting she resend the files.

“Oh! I’ll do that now, I must have—”

But he cuts her off by sliding the stack of papers that were under his large palm across the desk towards her. “Do you mind explaining to me what you did email me?”

“I don’t think I know—” Katniss finally gets a proper look at the words on the page and her heart stops. She’s pretty sure she squeaks, but her ears are ringing so she can’t really tell. And even though her vision has gone spotty, she can still clearly make out the words ‘magnificent cock’ on the white paper. Oh god! “Ah…”

“I think you do know,” he murmurs. “Don’t you?”

She triple-checked that email!

“Oh. My. God. You weren’t—I didn’t mean to—it was an honest mistake!”

“Writing it? Or emailing it to me?”

She’s just coming to the realization that he definitely read the small stack of papers in front of them, and it’s not hard to tell who the stories are about since she idiotically used their names…

At that moment, there’s not one word to describe what she’s feeling. Shame? Mortification? Terror? She just wishes that maybe he would have given her a heads up on what this meeting was about so she could have sorted through these emotions in private.

She swallows, lip slightly quivering. “Uh, both?”

“Why did you write it?”

“Um…” What could she possibly say? There is no point in lying, she’s getting fired regardless. But genuinely: “I don’t know.” Because she doesn’t know. It is just a hobby that clearly got way out of hand.

“Hm. I see.” He runs a finger across the top page, and she watches as he stops on the word ‘cunt.’ Suddenly the room feels warm, so much warmer than it was a few seconds ago. “Did you enjoy writing this?”

She clears her throat, trying to remove the build-up of nerves there. “I’m not sure how you want me to answer that.”

“Honestly,” he rumbles, and it’s the first crack in his smooth exterior since she stepped into the room.

Katniss gives a slow nod. “Yes.” She peeks up at him and practically jumps with the intensity of his gaze. “Uh, am I… am I fired?”

He opens his mouth to answer, and then the phone rings.

Oh, right, the conference call.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #birthday #eiramrelyat #submission #prompt

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bevioletskies · 3 years

Text

meet me halfway (across the sky)

summary: Video calls back home were a rare treat for Apollo, considering how busy his life in Khura’in could be. Catching up with Trucy, Athena, and Phoenix was one thing. Getting a sudden call from Klavier was another. And talking to Klavier every day for hours about everything they never knew about each other was possibly the most unexpected thing of all.

word count: 12k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day five of seven (prompt: "parallels"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

Mild spoiler warning for Spirit of Justice, along with implied spoilers for Dual Destinies. Fic title is from the song Meet Me Half Way by Kenny Loggins.

“Uh, Mr. Wright, you’re way too close to the screen. Can you sit back a little?”

“Oops - sorry, Apollo! Still not used to this kind of technology, heh.”

“Sheesh, Daddy, you make yourself sound ancient - ”

“Ah! Did you guys start already? Attendez-moi!”

Chuckling, Apollo leaned back in his seat and waited while the three of them rearranged themselves in front of their webcam. He’d missed this, this camaraderie that he didn’t quite have with his current companions in Khura’in. There was something immensely comforting about it, about every time he managed to schedule a video call with everyone back home. It didn’t happen as often as they would’ve liked, given how busy they all were, how tricky the time difference could be, but when it did, it was the best part of Apollo’s week.

“Hey, guys,” Apollo said, waving sleepily. “What’s been going on?” He leaned closer, peering at his screen. “...Athena, why do you have a banana sticker on your forehead?”

“Why don’t you have a banana sticker on your forehead?” Athena retorted, peeling hers off with a flourish. “Anyway, everything’s been sehr gut! We’ve had, hm...I think four clients since we last talked? All acquitted, of course!”

“Anything interesting?” Apollo asked. “I’ve had twelve clients, myself.”

Phoenix frowned. “I’m...not so sure that’s a good thing. Are you getting enough sleep? I can’t imagine you having that many cases and not mixing them up. Keeping track of evidence alone must be a nightmare!”

“It’s been...a process,” Apollo said diplomatically, trying not to think about the dozens of folders he had on both his desktop and his actual desk that needed to be sorted in a way that made some semblance of sense. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Wright, I-I’m fine!”

“Famous last words,” Trucy huffed. “Polly, you need rest! We want you back home in one piece, after all.”

“At least I’m not accepting odd jobs anymore,” Apollo chuckled. “I don’t mind helping someone set up their internet or move their couch every now and then, but I can’t do everything.” He startled suddenly at the sound of his phone going off. “Oh - sorry, one sec.” His brows knitted together when he read the call display: Klavier Gavin.

“Apollo? Is something wrong?” Athena asked, concerned.

“I - uh…” Apollo hesitated, unsure of what to do. “I’m gonna mute myself for a second, hang on.” He did just that, then answered his phone. “Gavin? Are you...wait. Did you call me by accident?”

There was a long, lingering silence. Then, “Ach, I only just realized what time it is where you are. I should’ve texted first, ja?”

“Yeah, probably,” Apollo said, laughing awkwardly. “Is this, uh, urgent? It’s just - I’m in the middle of a video call, so…”

“Nein, nein, not all!” Klavier’s voice was too loud, too sharp. Apollo didn’t need to see his face to know what that meant. “You know what? Forget I called, it’s nothing.”

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” Apollo protested, frowning. “If you wanna talk for whatever reason, we can - ”

“I have somewhere I need to be, anyway, so, er - Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Forehead.” Klavier quickly hung up before Apollo could get a word in edgewise. He stared at his phone, perplexed, before unmuting himself. The others looked as confused as he was.

“What happened?” Phoenix asked.

“...Prosecutor Gavin called me?” Apollo shook himself a little. “I’ll get back to him later, so - anyway, what were we talking about?”

_____

Three days passed before Klavier responded to the inquiring text message Apollo had sent him after he’d finished talking to the others. He still didn’t seem ready to talk about it - whatever it was - but he did suggest they do a video call of their own, to which Apollo agreed. Something about Klavier’s behavior was bothering him, and he was more curious about it than he expected to be.

“Forehead? You’re staring, achtung. I know I’m handsome, but you should really keep those eyes of yours under control. They’re going to get you in trouble someday, I’m sure of it.”

“I - ” Apollo’s eyes narrowed. “Really, Gavin? That’s how we’re starting this?”

“It was you who started it,” Klavier said petulantly, his tone not unlike a five-year-old’s. But really, Apollo couldn’t stop staring - not because of Klavier’s looks; he’d long made peace with how attractive he thought Klavier was and how much he didn’t want Klavier to know, but because of how tired Klavier seemed. Apollo had expected him to be in his usual “uniform”, his silver jewelry and perfect makeup and impeccably styled hair. Instead, Klavier was wearing an oversized sweater, his hair up in a loose topknot, his face completely bare. He still had that lazy, slightly flirtatious smile on his face, but he was slouching quite a bit, his arms loosely wrapped around his propped-up knee. With his cracked lips, acne scars, and hunched shoulders, he looked more human than Apollo had ever thought possible.

“How’ve you been?” Apollo asked, ignoring him. “I’m surprised you called. I haven’t heard from you in, like. Three months? Four? I swear, I’m losing all sense of time here.”

“Well, it’s not like we had a habit of talking in the first place, ja?” Klavier pointed out. “But...to borrow a phrase, I’m fine, though the courts have been so boring without you here. I almost miss the ringing ears I got after every single one of our trials.”

“Har, har,” Apollo drawled. “Congratulations, you and everyone else have broken me down into exactly two personality traits: sarcastic and loud. Are you proud of yourself?”

“You forgot ‘oblivious’,” Klavier supplied helpfully.

Apollo blinked. “...to what?” He blinked again. “Wait - ”

“Too late,” Klavier interrupted gleefully, beaming. “You’ve proven my point beautifully.” Apollo glared; not five minutes in, and he was already prepared to hang up. “Anyway, I’ve been sehr gut, for the most part. Work has been keeping me busy. You?”

“I’m pretty settled here by now,” Apollo said, shrugging. “It’s rough, y’know, trying to rebuild an entire legal system as the only defense attorney in the country, but, uh...at least I’m not completely alone. And as nerdy as it sounds, I’m actually really liking the work. Not the stress - that, I could do without - but the fact that I get to be a part of this big...thing. It’s exciting, I guess.”

“It’s not that nerdy,” Klavier reasoned. “Nerdy is reading law textbooks at night, under the covers. As a child.”

“...is it weird that I actually did that?” Apollo asked, wincing.

Now it was Klavier’s turn to blink, stunned. “Wait, really? I was talking about me.”

“Oh.” Apollo shifted in his seat, surprised. “Never would’ve guessed. I mean, obviously, I know you became a prosecutor at seventeen, but I just assumed you were a musical child prodigy and...I dunno, switched career paths at some point.”

Klavier let out a soft laugh. “Again, you flatter me, Herr Forehead, but I’m not a prodigy of any kind. Just some good old-fashioned hard work, you know?” He then frowned very slightly. “Though...I’ll admit, I’m not sure how much of my standing at the prosecutor’s office also came down to good old-fashioned nepotism. After all, Kristoph…” He trailed off, unwilling to say more.

Apollo shuddered. Even after all this time, he couldn’t get his former boss’s maniacal laughter out of his head. “Right, um...oh, have you had any interesting cases lately? Athena was telling me she had a literal gravedigger as a client - no prizes for guessing where the victim’s body was discovered…”

The next hour seemed to fly by surprisingly quickly, with the two of them exchanging light-hearted anecdotes about work. As it turned out, they’d both had many interesting cases since the last time they spoke. It wasn’t until Apollo could barely keep his eyes open that he realized what time it was.

“Ach, don’t let me keep you,” Klavier said when Apollo yawned for what seemed like the hundredth time in a row. “You have work in the morning, I’m sure.”

“Wait, but - ” Apollo yawned yet again “ - but we never got around to...whatever it was you were calling about the first time. Your so-called ‘nothing’.”

Klavier’s expression sobered instantly, his mouth pulling back into a hard line. “I’m not going to bother lying to you, Apollo. But I’m not interested in telling you, either. So let’s leave it at that, ja?”

“I...oh.” Apollo nodded, feeling somewhat chastised. “Fine. Fine, we don’t have to - but if you wanna, y’know, catch up again sometime, let me know, okay? I’ve got time to talk. Er, I think.”

Klavier laughed, surprised, though his eyes were still wary. “Do you actually...miss me, Forehead?”

“You really know how to ruin a moment, Gavin,” Apollo sighed, shaking his head. “Anyway, talk to you later...maybe. Haven’t decided on whether I actually want to anymore, jerk.”

Klavier continued to grin. “Auf Wiedersehen, baby.” Apollo tried not to think about how the last word had made him shiver.

Weeks went by before Apollo heard from Klavier again, a few days after he’d had a two-hour long call with Trucy. Apollo’s voice was a bit hoarse from all the talking he’d done - not to mention how angry he’d gotten in court just yesterday after a particularly smug witness tried to take over the entire trial - but nevertheless, he was surprised at how happy he was to see Klavier, a feeling he was mostly unfamiliar with.

“Do you have a cold?” Klavier asked. “Your voice sounds a bit strained and raspy.”

“My brain feels strained and raspy,” Apollo groaned. He then paused; for some reason, the exchange sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. “It’s nothing, I just got pissed and yelled at someone in court yesterday. Not my finest moment, I’ll admit.”

“But isn’t yelling your default?” Klavier smirked. He looked more relaxed than last time, the tension in his face less noticeable. “I hope the rest of the trial went well, at least.”

“Oh, it didn’t,” Apollo said, snorting. “But...past’s in the past. I have too many cases to deal with to bother worrying about one crappy witness. My client was acquitted, I got the real culprit, you know the deal. It’s all starting to blur together, to be honest.”

“It sounds like you need to get out more,” Klavier suggested, not unkindly. “Is there any sort of...nightlife in Khura’in? Recreational activities, maybe? Don’t make me bother Fräulein Detective and get her to drag you to a bar every now and then.”

“We go out to eat or drink sometimes,” Apollo replied, shrugging. “But...I dunno. I don’t really have the time to take up a new hobby or whatever. My free time is for eating, sleeping, and catching up with people back home.”

“Fair enough, though you really should lighten your workload,” Klavier said sagely. “It’s not like you took cases every day when you were here, ja? I know Khura’in needs your help, but what good are you to them if you’re burnt out?”

Apollo’s eyes widened slightly, stupefied. Then, he tried - and failed - to stifle a laugh. “Okay, Dad. Sheesh, you sound like Mr. Wright trying to give me a pep talk.” He sat back in his seat, loosely running his fingers through his hair. “Fine, then, question for you - when’s the last time you took a day off?”

“I went to visit my parents last Saturday,” Klavier answered after taking a moment to think. “They needed help cleaning and packing away some of...some of his things.” He visibly swallowed, though he tried to hide it with a sharp cough. After some consideration, Apollo decided not to comment on it.

“That’s hardly a day off,” Apollo retorted instead. “I mean, it’s technically not work, but - wait. Do you usually work on weekends, too?”

“Natürlich,” Klavier replied, confused. “Do you mean to say you don’t?”

“No, I - I work on weekends more than I should,” Apollo admitted. “But it’s kinda hypocritical of you to tell me to get out more when you don’t have much of a life, either, y’know. Also, are you seriously telling me you don’t have, like. Other things to do? People to see, places to be? Not that spending time with your parents is a bad thing, I-I mean, it’s cool that you do, it’s just...well.”

Klavier averted his eyes, reaching across his desk to pick up his mug of tea. He took his time with it, drinking at a leisurely pace, before finally speaking again. “Do you actually care to know, Forehead? Or are you just asking to ask?” he said evenly.

“I…” Apollo found himself caught off-guard by both the question and his own answer. “No, I actually wanna know. ‘Cos it’s just - it’s not what I imagined. I’ve seen all the headlines and photos and stuff, so…”

“Ah.” Klavier smiled ruefully. “From the early Gavinners days, I take it? Back when I had Daryan around to be my bad influence? Nein, that’s not exactly my style anymore. I already feel too old for that kind of scheisse. Now, I do these things out of obligation, you know? Work parties, family events...nothing too wild. Not when I’ve been involved in too many scandals. Better to lay low than to put myself out there again, ja?”

“I...I see.” Apollo went quiet for a moment, ruminating. He couldn’t help but notice Klavier had neatly avoided the word “friend”; he was starting to wonder how many he actually had. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time Klavier had ever mentioned anyone outside of people that Apollo himself already knew.

“You’re staring again, Forehead.” Klavier leaned closer, resting his chin in his hands, a wicked grin plastered across his face. “There’s no one nearly as pretty as me in Khura’in, I take it? Don’t worry, I’d be surprised if there was.” Apollo said nothing, instead lifting a hand from his own mug of honey lemon tea to flip him off. Klavier merely laughed in response, delighted.

_____

After that, the gap between video calls went down from a few weeks to a few days. Neither of them knew why, but somehow, they’d come to a silent agreement that they were going to talk once or twice a week about nothing in particular. However, Apollo still hadn’t quite figured out why Klavier had called him the first time. Initially, he suspected it had something to do with Kristoph, given that the Gavins were finally starting to pack up his things. Maybe Klavier had visited him recently, or maybe he’d reminisced a little too long about their shared childhood, whatever that looked like. But when Apollo had asked, Klavier had simply shrugged it off.

“It’s no secret that even thinking about thinking about Kristoph puts me in a foul mood,” Klavier had replied. “But I haven’t seen him lately, nein. I’m done, I’m - I just want to move on with my life, without his shadow lurking in the darkness.”

Not all their conversations were so heavy, though; once they’d finally caught up on everything they’d missed out on over the last several months, their topics turned mundane, even silly. Apollo never expected to spend one of his precious free Saturday mornings arguing with Klavier, of all people, about breakfast, of all things, but here he was.

“Yes, I’ve had instant ramen for breakfast, what of it?!” Apollo had exclaimed defensively. “Add an egg, some bacon bits...what’s your problem?”

“My problem is your sodium intake,” Klavier had protested. “Bitte, tell me you eat actual fruits and vegetables from time to time. Tell me you have some semblance of a balanced diet and your stomach hasn’t just turned into a toxic wasteland.”

Apollo wasn’t sure why he was talking to Klavier so often, so suddenly, in all honesty. Part of him supposed it was because Klavier just happened to be there - after all, he seemed freer to talk than Phoenix, Trucy, or Athena, and he wasn’t bad company when he wasn’t not-so-stealthily insulting Apollo in court. But another part of him, the part he desperately wanted to ignore, felt oddly comforted by Klavier’s probably-fake accent and his too-wide smile. Klavier’s presence in his small, chilly Khura’inese bedroom almost made him feel like he was back home.

“Have you seen the others lately?” Apollo asked one evening, bundled up in the thickest blanket he could find. There was a draft coming in from somewhere that he had yet to take care of, and neither Datz nor Ahlbi were too interested in checking it out, either. “Or...I dunno. Watched any of Trucy’s shows?”

“I’ve only seen them around at crime scenes and the courthouse,” Klavier replied. Apollo couldn’t stop himself from sneaking a peek over Klavier’s shoulders at his surroundings in curiosity. For once, Klavier was sitting on his bed instead of at his desk or in what was presumably his home office. Unsurprisingly, he seemed to have a huge, ostentatious-looking bedroom that was probably bigger than Apollo’s office. “Things have been...busy at the Gavin estate. I don't have much time to socialize with colleagues.”

“Busy?” Apollo echoed, sitting up. “More cleaning, you mean?”

“My parents aren’t retired, but sometimes, they act like they are,” Klavier said wryly. “They want to remodel so many rooms - the kitchen, the conservatory, my old playroom...so I’ve been going home quite a bit these days, helping them with the little things. It was nostalgic, seeing all the toys I used to play with. Feels like a lifetime ago, achtung.”

“What was your thing?” Apollo asked. “Beanie Babies? Barbie Dreamhouses? Legos? Wait, let me guess - you had one of those Fisher-Price piano playmats, didn’t you? Don’t even lie to me.”

“I would never own something so tacky,” Klavier protested; he almost seemed offended. “Nein, Mama was all about wooden toys - blocks, cars, dollhouses, kitchen sets - it’s very aesthetically pleasing. With the occasional soft toy, ja, but we never had plastic.”

“Interesting,” Apollo said, humming. “Same here, no plastic for us. Only, uh - not for the same reasons. More out of...necessity.”

“Oh.” Klavier’s expression softened. “Ja, I suppose in your...situation, you wouldn’t be able to get new things easily.” He then smirked. “Now I’m trying to imagine you and Herr Sahdmadhi as children. I can’t picture either of you with dolls or teddy bears.”

“Try actual frogs and actual bunnies,” Apollo said, sinking down further into his chair. “We were outdoorsy kids, believe it or not. Scraped knees and sunburns and all. But now, uh, good luck dragging me away from air conditioning and indoor plumbing. You couldn’t pay me to abandon my weighted blanket.”

“Picky, picky,” Klavier teased, grinning. “I don’t blame you, though. I’m too comfortable with being comfortable to like change. Though...I suppose that’s not really up to us, is it? Changing?”

“How philosophical of you,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that deep, Gavin, I’m just saying I’m not interested in sleeping outdoors again anytime soon. One instance of me waking up with ants in places that you definitely don’t want ants was enough.” He then chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “And honestly, who does like change? It’s like when I get a new client, right, and every time, something changes on me. Evidence, circumstances, logic...hell, it’s your fault sometimes!”

“When did this become about me?” Klavier chuckled, still smiling.

“Isn’t everything?” Apollo shot back. “It’s like you have this...this uncanny ability to turn any normal conversation into an opportunity for you to wax poetic, just so you can sound cool. If you ask me, it’s more dorky than anything else.”

Klavier’s mouth dropped open. “...Apollo Justice, are you calling me a dork?”

“Maybe I am, Klavier Gavin. What are we, Prosecutor von Karma?” Apollo snorted. “Sorry, Gavin, but between you and her, I think I know which one of you is actually German.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m very German,” Klavier protested, wagging an accusing finger at his screen. “Both of my parents grew up in Germany; they only came to the States so they could get their master’s. They had me learn German by watching Janoschs Traumstunde and Die Sendung mit der Maus, and Mama taught me how to make spätzle and schupfnudeln and reibekuchen - ah, and my favorite dessert? Bienenstich.”

Apollo held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I believe you. I just think your accent’s a little...questionable. You sound like someone who got too overconfident in their dedication to Duolingo.”

“Ach,” Klavier said, laughing. “Anyway, do you mean it? Am I really...dorky?”

“Wow, you’re even more hung up on that than I thought,” Apollo teased, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing as well. “Though I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Image is a big deal to you, after all. Yes, Gavin, you’re a huge dork. How can you not be when you say shit like - like ‘tell me you share my angst, Herr Forehead’ - ”

“And you think my accent is terrible,” Klavier mused, sighing. “So sue me, I like to embellish. I like a little romance in my language - it makes life more interesting, you know? Though I suppose you wouldn’t understand, being the kind of person that you are. You wouldn’t know romance if it asked you to dinner.”

“Ugh, that reminds me.” An involuntary shudder went through Apollo’s entire body. “I had a client ask me out a few weeks ago. Like, seconds after I got him acquitted. As if that was all he was thinking about while the judge declared him not guilty.”

Klavier went still. “...really? What happened? What did you say?”

“I said no, obviously!” Apollo exclaimed, loud enough that he briefly wondered if he’d accidentally woken up his neighbors. “He wasn’t a murderer, but he was still a shitty person. Besides, shitty or not, it’s kind of an unspoken thing to not date clients and co-workers, isn’t it?”

“Ja, of course,” Klavier said, waving a hand aimlessly. “I’m just...surprised.”

“That someone was interested in me? Thanks, Gavin,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes.

“That someone thought it was a good idea,” Klavier corrected, mouth twisting into a slight frown. “You’re perfect...ly acceptable, Forehead. As a, ah, person to go on a date with, I mean.” He cleared his throat; it seemed to get stuck quite often these days. “Anyway - surely, he didn’t think you would agree!”

“I dunno what he was thinking, if he was thinking at all in the first place,” Apollo sighed, shivering once more. “At least Ema got a good laugh out of it.”

Klavier straightened up, his expression quickly returning to normal. “How is she, by the way? I can only imagine that Khura’in is completely covered in luminol by now.”

“She’s adjusted pretty well, though she’s used to living overseas,” Apollo shrugged. “Her Khura’inese needs some work, though. Er, not that mine’s much better, I’ve been gone for too long. It’s coming back to me...slowly. Very slowly.”

“Sometimes I forget that you speak another language, too,” Klavier remarked. “Considering your grasp of English…”

“My English is fine, thanks,” Apollo huffed; it seemed like he couldn’t go one conversation without wanting to stick his tongue out at Klavier like they were unruly children on a school playground. Or, alternatively, flipping him off like they were fighting over the last parking spot. “Just ‘cos I don’t get all fancy with it - ”

“Here we go again,” Klavier sighed, dropping his chin into his hands. “And you say I make everything about me, hm?”

“Two-way street, Gavin. Two-way street,” Apollo said, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Besides, that’s...it’s kind of our thing, isn’t it? Poking at each other until someone gets legitimately pissed? Usually me, but still.”

“I didn’t know we had a ‘thing’,” Klavier said, cocking his head in curiosity. “Tell me more about this ‘thing’ of ours, bitte.”

“See? There you go again!” Now Apollo’s neighbors were definitely awake; he didn’t have to look out the window to know that their lights were coming back on. “You can’t go two seconds without being...smarmy about something. It’s like a bad habit of yours, and I know a thing or two about bad habits.”

“What’s yours?”

Apollo blinked. Klavier had asked so suddenly, so immediately, that he’d barely heard what he’d said. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Your bad habit,” Klavier elaborated. “I know you were talking about spotting other people’s tells, but I’m more curious about yours. You’d think that, since I get on your nerves so easily, I’d be able to see it myself, but…” He shrugged, still smiling. It was one of those indiscernible expressions of his that frustrated Apollo so much, the kind of bland, indifferent smile that seemed to mean anything and nothing at the same time. The kind of smile Klavier had in court as he reviewed the facts of the case, or when he ran into Apollo at a crime scene, or even when he talked about not talking about his brother.

“I...I, uh, never really thought about it.” Apollo hummed, thinking it over. “Messing with my hair, I guess? I’ve definitely, literally pulled my hair out before whenever I’m, like. Nervous. Stressed. Worried. Or, y’know, all of the above. I even had a crooked hairline in high school ‘cos I used to do it all the time.”

Klavier lifted his head from his hands, looking at Apollo in awe. He was quiet for so long that Apollo almost asked him if his internet connection had cut out, only to watch Klavier fuss with his bangs, then push them back completely, exposing his hairline, near-identical to what Apollo’s used to look like. It was only then that Apollo realized he’d never seen Klavier with his hair completely up. Of course, he’d seen Klavier do ponytails, braids, even space buns if he was feeling particularly stylish, but his bangs were always swept over his left eye. Now, he could see why.

“...oh.” Apollo wasn’t sure what to say. “I...I see. Is that, uh, recent?”

Klavier nodded shortly, then briefly turned away to grab a hair tie from his bedside table. He held the hair tie between his teeth while he gathered up his hair and twisted it into a neat knot; Apollo tried not to stare at the fullness of Klavier’s bottom lip, sticking out in a perfect pout, as he did. “Can I tell you a secret, Herr Forehead?”

“Oh - er - okay, abrupt change of topic there,” Apollo muttered, more to himself than to Klavier. “I guess so. What’s up?”

“I...haven’t decided how I feel yet about my parents remodeling our family estate.” Klavier’s tone was casual, but Apollo knew by now that it meant nothing. “I know why they’re doing it, I just don’t know why they’re doing it now. Nothing has changed, you know? They’re still working, I’m still working...Kristoph is still in prison.”

“Well, I don’t...know your parents or anything,” Apollo said carefully. “But i-it could be, like, a healing process thing. Starting fresh and all that, you know? But maybe it’s really not that deep. Maybe they literally just felt like, hey, now’s the right time to renovate. You could ask ‘em.”

“Ah - nein, I couldn’t inconvenience them like that,” Klavier said, chuckling awkwardly. He was already starting to mess with his hair once more. “If I expressed anything other than my complete support, they would stop immediately. And they’ve already sacrificed so much for me, I would never...I can’t…”

“Gavin,” Apollo said softly.

“It’s just a few rooms.” Klavier inhaled sharply. “What does it matter? It’s not like I live there. If Mama wants to turn our playroom into a crafting room, it...it makes sense.”

Their conversation, understandably, didn’t last too long after that. Apollo crawled into bed, still wrapped up in his blankets, with over a dozen trains of thought trekking through his mind, more of them about Klavier than he wanted to admit. He’d never thought of Klavier as an inherently private person - at times, he seemed almost too open to speaking his mind - but now, he could see that in some ways, he had been completely wrong.

_____

Unlike before, a few weeks passed before they had another video call. Klavier was wearing a muscle tank this time, his hair scraped back into a messy bun, his bangs perfectly placed. Apollo found himself more than a little distracted by the broadness of Klavier’s shoulders, by the length of Klavier’s neck. “Entschuldigung for last time,” Klavier said smoothly, by way of greeting. “Let’s not have me treat our conversations like my therapy sessions, ja?”

“It’s fine, Gavin,” Apollo reassured him. “One comment about how you’re feeling is no big deal. If you wanna talk, then...talk. Honestly, I’m a huge law nerd, and I could talk about Khura’inese legal practices all day, but, uh, I could definitely use a conversation or two that’s about something completely different.”

Klavier nodded, seemingly thinking it over. “...I like your hair.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow. “...and I like your shirt. What, are we on a shitty speed date? C’mon, you can do better than that!”

“Ach, you didn’t let me finish,” Klavier protested, chuckling. “I just meant...I like your hair like this. It looks...soft. Less severe. Something that would be nice to touch, you know?”

“I...oh.” A pleasant tingle went up Apollo’s spine. Klavier’s voice was low, warm, especially through his headphones. He brushed his hair back behind his ears, ducking his head slightly so Klavier wouldn’t notice the heat rising in his cheeks. “Trucy introduced me to some new hair products a while back. Said it was stuff she uses to make her hair look extra shiny under the stage lights. Er, n-not that that’s why I’m using it, just...it’s nice to treat myself every now and then.”

Klavier suddenly perked up. “Speaking of treating yourself, that reminds me - you know the best way to help you with all that stress and tension you’re dealing with? A gut massage. Surely, there are some facilities like that in Khura’in, ja?”

Apollo fixed Klavier with a withering look. “...Gavin, we just had a revolution here, like, six months ago. Getting a massage and a facial is hardly anyone’s priority right now, believe me. It’s not like the legal system is off in its own little world, y’know? The economy, the sociopolitical order…everyone considers themselves lucky that they can go about their day-to-day lives, but luxury goods and services? Not here, not yet.”

“Shame, though I can’t fault Khura’in for having its priorities in order,” Klavier said, frowning slightly. “Well, if I ever get bored enough and feel like hopping on a plane, maybe I’ll come visit and give you a massage myself.”

“I’m not paying for your ticket,” Apollo retorted, his cheeks reddening once more. “And are you even qualified?”

“I always massage Papa’s shoulders whenever I go to my parents’ house,” Klavier mused thoughtfully. “He gets sore from all the gardening he does. You should see our estate garden; it’s like something out of a fairytale.”

Apollo’s nose twitched. “I’m, uh, I’m sure it does. Hey, so - tell me about your parents. You’ve mentioned them a bunch of times, but I don’t actually know that much about them.”

“High school sweethearts,” Klavier said with an almost dreamy smile on his face. “The old-school kind, slipping love letters into each other’s bags between classes and all that. Now, they’re both college professors at the same school. They both act like practical, no-nonsense people, but the truth is, they're both romantisch at heart.”

“And then passed that on to you,” Apollo nodded. “Makes sense. They sound adorable, actually.”

“I never had a high school sweetheart of my own,” Klavier sighed wistfully. “I can’t imagine how...all-consuming that must feel. To be so young, to be so sure that this one person, the only person you’ve ever loved, will be the only person you’ll ever love.”

“I guess that’s where we differ,” Apollo said quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, surprised at himself. He wasn’t sure where his comment had come from, why he’d blurted it out loud without a second thought. “I, uh, I had...something like that. Someone like that.”

“...oh.” Klavier furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “What happened?”

Apollo ducked his head, unable to look Klavier in the eye. “...you know what happened to him.”

Klavier’s eyes widened in realization. “Ach - Apollo, I’m so - ”

“Don’t, I - don’t,” Apollo insisted, a lump forming in his throat. “It’s not, uh. It’s not something I really wanna talk about.”

Klavier seemed unable to speak for a moment, his eyes shining with pity. Apollo hated it, hated how genuinely sorry Klavier looked, as if he had anything to do with it at all. Klavier opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “...I’ve written songs about my parents, actually. Not that you’ll find them on any Gavinners’ albums, just little love ballads that I played at their anniversary parties and vow renewal. They were big hits with my extended family - the one I wrote when I was ten years old is an absolute classic.”

“I’m sure it was,” Apollo chuckled, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “How about now, you write anything recently?”

“Barely a tune since the Gavinners disbanded,” Klavier admitted. “I haven’t felt all that inspired lately. Maybe someday it’ll come back to me, but right now...nothing. Nichts.”

“Good luck, I guess,” Apollo offered. “By the way, what’s with the tank top? Is it that hot over there already?”

“I’ve always been hot, Forehead, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Klavier said, grinning victoriously at the almost too obvious bait.

Apollo groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I will hang up on you someday, Gavin, don’t think I won’t.”

_____

The gap between video calls quickly dwindled down from a few days to no days at all. Text messages were constant, to the point where Apollo had to sheepishly ask Nahyuta how to upgrade his phone plan. Even phone calls started to increase in frequency; Apollo was starting to think he heard Klavier’s voice more often than he heard Ema’s, and they often spent entire days in each other’s presence.

“How do you feel about peaches?” Apollo asked, his phone carefully sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder as he deftly navigated his way through the farmer’s market, nearly tripping over a stray dog as he did so.

“Great emoji,” Klavier replied semi-seriously, though Apollo could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Although...Forehead, if this is your subtle way of asking me for my opinion on Call Me By Your Name, I’ll have you know I never learned how to play Capriccio sopra la lontananza del suo fratello dilettissimo. Now, Zion Hört Die Wächter Singen, on the other hand - ”

“Need I remind you, I only speak English, Khura’inese, and college-level Spanish?” Apollo interrupted, shaking his head. “Anyway, peaches are basically a delicacy here. Sucks for me, since I’m allergic to stone fruit.”

“Same, I can only eat them cooked. I love a good cherry pie,” Klavier hummed. “Did you remember to get kale this time?”

“Yeah, I got a huge bundle of it right here,” Apollo said, jostling his wicker basket loudly enough so Klavier could hear. A few market patrons turned to look at him strangely. “Thanks again for the tip, by the way. I’m still getting used to cooking stuff that’s not instant or frozen, so roasting vegetables is a total game-changer.”

“Glad to hear you’re eating actual fruits and vegetables now,” Klavier replied, chuckling. “So, I had a case go kaput today. Thought you might want to hear about it.”

“Obviously!” Apollo said, lighting up. “What did you do?”

“Achtung, why do you think it was my fault?” Klavier protested, his laughter warm in Apollo’s ear.

“Isn’t everything?” Apollo shot back, laughing as well. “Seriously, what happened? Can’t be as bad as...literally anything that’s happened to me.”

“Nein, not quite,” Klavier agreed. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t up against Athena or Herr Wright. Some rookie, I think; I was going to go easy on them. That is, until the defendant, apparently overcome with guilt, decided to bring their own decisive evidence to prove that they did, in fact, kill the victim.”

“No!” Apollo exclaimed. More market patrons turned in his direction, glaringly so. He shot them apologetic grimaces, then ducked behind a watermelon display. “Really? Like, are we talking fingerprints, photographs…”

“Everything, Forehead, everything. I couldn’t have convicted them better myself,” Klavier remarked. “Obviously, I take no joy in celebrating crime, especially murder, but ach, I consider that one of the highlights of my career. The only thing that would’ve made it better was if you were there. I can picture your dumbfounded expression now.”

“You’re terrible,” Apollo informed him, with no real bite behind his words. “But...not gonna lie, that’s kind of incredible. I feel bad for the defense, though. I’ve been screwed over by clients before, but usually not that badly.” He then heard a sharp wuff somewhere by his feet; he glanced down to see the dog he’d nearly tripped over before was now sitting on top of his toes, looking up at him with literal puppy-dog eyes. “...uh, hello. Did you need something?”

“What’s that?” Klavier asked.

“Oh - sorry, not you, Gavin. A stray dog just came over to say hi, I guess.” Apollo crouched down, taking care not to tip his basket. “Hey, buddy. I’m not the one to beg for food, if that’s what you’re looking for. All I can offer is, like, a belly rub.”

“Wait, switch to video, I want to see this,” Klavier pleaded, laughing again. Sighing, Apollo turned on his camera, then aimed his phone at the dog, who was now rolling over onto its back, its tail thumping enthusiastically against the cobblestone. “Ah, what an adorable hündchen! Go on, Forehead, don’t make him wait.” Sighing yet again - at Klavier, naturally, not the dog; he could never begrudge the dog - Apollo carefully set his basket down, then began rubbing the dog’s belly, smiling at the adorably goofy look the dog gave him in return, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, his eyes closing in utter bliss. “Hold still for a moment, bitte? I want to make this my contact photo for you.”

“Gavin, I swear - ”

“Uh, Apollo? What are you doing?”

Apollo startled at the sound of a new voice; his eyes widened when he looked up and realized who it belonged to. “Ema! He-e-ey, wh-what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Ema replied, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you petting a dog while video-calling Gavin at the farmer’s market?”

“...because I can?” Apollo offered meekly, straightening up. He quickly hung up on Klavier before Ema could attempt to talk to him, silently noting the need to send him an apology text later. “Hey, um - th-there’s a discount on tangyuan today, you wanna go all out and split the cost with me?”

Ema continued to eye him suspiciously. “Sure. But please don’t insult my intelligence - you can’t just distract me with snacks, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Apollo sighed, giving the dog one last pat on the head before leading Ema across the market, towards the aforementioned snack stall. “We just...we talk sometimes. What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing, if you guys just do video calls every now and then,” Ema said. “But here you are, shopping for produce and chatting with Gavin at the same time. It’s...a little domestic, don’t you think?”

“D...domestic?” Apollo echoed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I just didn’t think you and Gavin had that kind of relationship, that’s all,” Ema continued, shrugging as she popped a grape from her own basket into her mouth. “Listen, I couldn’t care less about that guy. But you’re my friend, so...I have to ask. Is something, y’know...going on there?”

“Wh - no, no, no, o-of course not!” Apollo ducked behind Ema the second he felt the glares of the market patrons turn to face him, again. He was starting to think he wasn’t going to be welcome back for a couple of weeks, at least. “I - he - we’re friends! It’s kinda new, b-but we’re friends. Just friends. He’s, like...pretty decent when he’s not being obnoxious in court. Or at a crime scene...or just in general.”

Ema snorted, reaching over to steal a strawberry from Apollo’s basket next. “I think it’s time you hop off that bicycle of yours, Apollo, because you’re obviously backpedaling.”

“Tortured metaphor, but okay,” Apollo muttered, glowering at her.

“How’d you guys end up talking in the first place, anyway?” Ema asked, chewing noisily. “I can’t imagine you were the one to initiate it.”

“It...I’m not sure, actually,” Apollo admitted, slapping her hand away before she could steal his entire carton of freshly-picked strawberries. They were probably more expensive than all the vegetables he’d purchased, combined. “Gavin called me a while back, seemed embarrassed about it, and then hung up. I asked him later what was going on, we started doing video calls and stuff, and then it turned into a thing, but…I never figured out why he called the first time. And I don’t think there’s any point in asking.”

“Fair enough, though I gotta admit, I’m still curious. For scientific purposes, of course,” Ema added, humming to herself. “Maybe he...no, there’s no way.”

“You know something I don’t?” Apollo asked, nudging her. “What happened to ‘I couldn’t care less’?”

“Believe me, I really couldn’t,” Ema retorted, elbowing him back. “Surprises me that you have enough to talk about, though. I mean, it’s Gavin.”

“Hey,” Apollo protested; suddenly, he felt weirdly defensive of Klavier. Again, it wasn’t a feeling he was too familiar with. “We have more in common than you think. It’s not all just - just guitar riffs and hair tosses with him.”

“If you say so,” Ema sighed, clearly uninterested in pursuing the topic any further. “C’mon, let’s pick our flavors already. And if you short me on black sesame, I will be taking those strawberries of yours.”

Later that evening, Apollo was cocooned in his usual plethora of blankets, poring over the evidence for three separate cases - honestly, the autopsy reports were starting to blur together, which explained why, for a moment, he thought one of the victims had somehow ended up with a bullet hole in their stomach from being stabbed with a blunt object - when his phone went off. He immediately perked up when he read the call display. “Gavin, hey. Sorry again about earlier, you know how Ema is.”

“Keine Sorge, you already apologized,” Klavier replied. “That’s not why I was calling, in any case.”

Apollo frowned slightly, putting Klavier on speakerphone and nestling his phone among his files. “Oh? I, uh, I thought you were just calling to chat.”

“Ja, we can talk about whatever we feel like after, it’s just - I had a question for you.” The deep breath Klavier took before speaking again made Apollo nervous. “Are you homesick?”

“...huh?” Apollo wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been that. “Well, I mean. Yeah. Yeah, obviously. Khura’in was my home once, so it’s not like I’m in a completely new place, but it’s...yeah, I miss being back home, traffic jams and heatwaves and all. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Klavier said innocently, in that sort of tone of voice that made Apollo want to reach through the phone and strangle him. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“There’s either no reason, or a reason that I’ll learn soon enough. Pick one, Gavin,” Apollo drawled, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. All he got in response was warm, throaty laughter that sent pleasant tingles down his spine. “Fine, don’t tell me. So, what’re you up to?”

“Just got back from my morning run.” There was a rustling of sound on Klavier’s end that suggested he was still walking around somewhere, presumably inside his apartment. Apollo could only imagine how sweaty he still was, how his skin glistened in the mid-morning sun - and now, he realized belatedly, he wasn’t sure if it was something he should be thinking about at all. “You know, after all this time - I still hate it. Running, I mean.”

“Then why do you do it?” Apollo said, trying not to laugh. “Though to be fair, I feel the same way. Athena used to make me run laps around the agency’s neighborhood sometimes ‘cos I need to ‘improve my cardiovascular health’ or whatever. Never got any good at it.”

“I do it because it’s good for me, but achtung, I wish I actually liked it,” Klavier sighed. “The fresh air, the endorphins, it’s all gut and well, but you know what I can’t stand? Sweat-soaked hair. Sore ankles and stiff knees. Don’t get me started on the sunburns, ach.”

“Okay, old man,” Apollo chuckled. “You sound like a guy twice your age, you know that?”

“I’m not the one who once said they were starting to prefer blander foods over spicy foods - calling me an old man, mein Gott, the disrespect - ”

A few hours later, Apollo was fully curled up beneath his duvet, head resting on his pillow, eyes closed, with his phone tucked under his ear. Neither of them had spoken in a little while, though Apollo could hear Klavier humming under his breath while he worked on clearing out his email inbox. “...you really should take a day off, Gavin.”

“You first,” Klavier said without missing a beat. “Don’t trick yourself into thinking you have to take every case in the country, ja?”

“Same to you,” Apollo mumbled; he was starting to drift in and out of consciousness. “You’re working, like...stupidly long hours. It’s not like you’re the only prosecutor in the district.”

There was a long pause. “Mama said that to me the other day. She told me I should live a little.”

“And she’s right,” Apollo yawned. “Anyway, I’m not gonna get into this again. And it’s not like you have to do anything major, just...take a day off. Go get a massage or whatever. Hang out with friends, go on a date, I dunno.”

“Go on a date, right,” Klavier drawled sarcastically. “Easier said than done, ja?”

“What, is it the fame thing?” Apollo asked, eyes snapping open in curiosity.

“It’s the, ah. ‘Trusting people’ thing.” Klavier let out a quiet laugh. “After convicting mein Bruder, after convicting someone I thought was my best friend...who’s to say any future romantic partner of mine wouldn’t end up facing that same fate?”

“...oh.” Apollo’s face softened; part of him wanted to see Klavier’s expression, while another part of him had the feeling it was better this way, to only hear the slight rasp, the slight crack in Klavier’s voice as he spoke. He could only imagine the noticeable twitch in Klavier’s eyes, the forced smile on his lips, that he’d seen a surprising amount of times over the past few months. “I see. I-I get it. Not like I’m any good at trusting people, either.”

Klavier went quiet again. “Apollo?”

“I...oh. Yeah?” He couldn’t remember the last time Klavier had called him by his actual name.

“Be honest with me, ja?” Klavier murmured. “When we talk every day, when we text and chat and send each other silly things...is it something you actually like doing, or...or are you just bored?”

Apollo snorted. “Oh please, you know my schedule. I couldn’t be bored if I tried.” He nestled deeper into his pillow, yawning. “Nah, you’re...we’re friends. Talking to you is like...part of my routine now.”

“You mean it?” Klavier asked. He sounded so uncertain that it made Apollo’s heart ache.

“I don’t send stupid memes to just anybody, you know,” Apollo teased. “And look, I’m not pretending like this isn’t weird. If you asked me a year ago if I could see myself talking to you on a daily basis, I would’ve said, y’know, ‘never in a million years’. But things are different now, so...yeah. You’re not so bad, Gavin.”

“Ah, danke. What high praise, coming from you,” Klavier drawled, laughing. “But really, I’m glad to hear it. I...wasn’t sure if I was bothering you. When I called that first time, I suppose I had my answer. Then after that, I never really knew for sure.”

“Now you do,” Apollo affirmed, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling too much.

“Now I do,” Klavier echoed, satisfied. “So, how about you, Forehead? Any clients ask you out again recently?”

“No, thank god,” Apollo said, shuddering. “Besides, I’m, uh. I’m not exactly looking to date right now, either. I’m...I’m pretty good with how things are going at the moment. Maybe after I get back. Thinking about thinking about dating, I mean.”

“Smart.” Klavier’s voice was so clear, so warm, that it almost sounded as if he were in Apollo’s bedroom, too. Apollo briefly wondered what it would be like to have Klavier visit, to wander the farmer’s market with him, to take evening walks along the river and watch the fireflies together, to go through an endless number of cases with him by his side. He had to admit, it didn’t sound half-bad. Better than half-bad, really, not that he was going to say so out loud. “Long-distance is never easy. The time zones, the uncertainty, the inability to truly be together...I can only imagine.”

“Right,” Apollo hummed, his eyes drifting closed once more. “I can only imagine.” When he woke up the next morning, he found a text message waiting for him - a screenshot of Klavier’s home screen; its background was a photo of Apollo and the friendly dog. sehr süß, Klavier had texted, and the hündchen isn’t so bad, either. It was too early, in Apollo’s opinion, for his heart to be racing this quickly.

_____

Almost four months to the day since they started talking, Apollo arrived at the post office with a delivery slip in hand, visibly confused by its earlier presence on his front door. “Was this really meant for me?” he managed to ask in his steadily improving Khura’inese. “I never ordered anything from the United States. Just paying customs would make me broke!”

“It really is for you, Mr. Justice,” the receptionist replied. Apollo watched, stunned, as she dragged a crate-sized package out from behind her desk. “You must have people who really love you back home, sir.”

“I...w-wow.” Apollo didn’t know what to say. “Er, do you have someone who can help me bring this back to my office?”

Twenty minutes later, Apollo was sitting on the floor of Justice Law Offices, embarrassingly sweaty and sore from how much effort it had taken him and one of the post office employees to haul his delivery here. Groaning, he reached for his pocket knife, then carefully sliced through the tape, unwrapping the enormous package layer by layer. When he finally reached its actual contents, he sat back on his haunches, stunned by the sheer amount of items inside.

The package consisted of two sturdy boxes; one was labeled with Ema’s name, so Apollo took it out and set it aside. He then opened the one that bore his name, only to find it was packed surprisingly tight. Boxes and boxes of his favorite snacks that were too expensive to import to Khura’in, well-loved copies of his favorite manga that had clearly been taken from his apartment back home, thick stacks of the most obnoxious California-themed postcards known to humankind with handwritten notes on their backs - before Apollo knew it, his eyes started to well up with emotion. Finally, at the bottom of the box, cushioning the other items nicely, were a few of his sweaters and hoodies, some of which still had a few stray Mikeko hairs on it.

“Oh,” Apollo said faintly, wiping his eyes hastily despite being completely alone. Then, he frowned. “Wait, what is…” He pulled out the only item of clothing he didn’t recognize, an unusually large hoodie in a familiar shade of purple with an embroidered rose on its breast pocket. Stuck to its left sleeve cuff was a sticky note; Apollo peeled it off and began to read what was on it.

herr forehead,

wear this the next time you go out, just in case you run into that hündchen again. It smells just a little bit like my parents’ dog - and like me, if you’re into that sort of thing.

alles liebe, klavier

Later that day - well into the evening, really - Apollo was eating dinner at his desk, rummaging through a hefty stack of police reports, when his laptop pinged, reminding him he had a scheduled video call that was about to start. Grinning, Apollo turned on his webcam, his heart pounding in anticipation. “Hey, Gavin. So, what do you think?”

“What do I think about - oh.” Klavier’s mouth fell open. “You’re...I didn’t think you were actually going to wear it.”

“Is, uh...is that a bad thing?” Apollo asked, suddenly nervous.

“Nein, nein, not at all! You look...achtung, you look good,” Klavier said hoarsely, swallowing. He then cleared his throat; his cheeks were flushed pink, much to Apollo’s delight. “Bitte, stand up for me? I want to see how long it is on you; it’s amazing you haven’t completely disappeared inside of it.”

“Asshole,” Apollo said affectionately, getting out of his chair and taking a few steps back so Klavier could see. He smoothed out the front of the hoodie, realizing belatedly that its hem only just grazed the tops of his bare thighs. “Er, don’t mind my legs. I-I’m wearing shorts underneath, I swear!”

“I don’t mind at all,” Klavier replied, cocking his head. His eyes were darkening, shining with something that Apollo couldn’t quite identify. “Have you worn it outside yet?”

“Nah, not yet. I was actually planning on wearing it to bed since it’s kinda cold, and this thing’s the biggest thing I have,” Apollo admitted, sitting back down. At Klavier’s exaggerated eyebrow raise, he groaned. “Shut up. Don’t make it weird.”

“I said nothing,” Klavier teased, dropping his chin into his hands. “So, did you like our care package? Trucy reached out to me on the same day you ran into that hündchen and asked if I had anything to contribute. I also sent Ema some old Gavinners’ merchandise, in case you didn’t know.”

“Oh, I heard about it from her, alright,” Apollo chuckled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Amazing how you manage to continue torturing her from several continents away. Maybe that’s your real talent.”

“To be fair, I was also the one who got her the beaker shot glasses and the glow-in-the-dark periodic table blanket,” Klavier pointed out, laughing as well. “I think all would be forgiven if she knew that was me.”

“So she gets new stuff and I get hand-me-downs, huh? I see how it is,” Apollo said, tucking his knees into his chest and yawning. “Seriously, though, thanks. This thing smells like that cologne of yours I don’t like.”

“And the backhanded compliments continue,” Klavier said, amused. “I hope you feel a little less homesick, at least.”

“Oh, I’m more homesick than ever,” Apollo snorted. “But I appreciate the care package, really! Having all this stuff here is amazing. It’s just...well. Stuff isn’t, uh...it’s not exactly a substitute for people, y’know?”

Klavier nodded thoughtfully, his smile sympathetic. Apollo took a moment to look at Klavier, to really look at him, and see how he was doing. He looked good; his skin had a glow to it, and his eyes and hair seemed to shine a little brighter than they had the very first time they’d talked. Klavier was bare-faced more often than not - aside from his tattooed eyebrows and eyelash extensions - though he seemed to be experimenting with his hair here and there, occasionally sporting different styles of ponytails, braids, and updos. It almost made Apollo forget how sullen he’d looked four months ago.

“Is that why you’re staring again?” Klavier asked, smirking. “Are you finally ready to admit you miss me, Forehead? That you miss my charming personality and my devastatingly good looks?”

“So what if I do?” Apollo huffed. He then frowned at Klavier’s wide eyes. “...what?”

“Nichts, it’s just - you do realize you just said you actually miss me, ja?” Klavier said disbelievingly. “Do you really mean it, or...or are you just saying that?”

“I-I...well.” Apollo shot him a small smile. “Yeah, Gavin, I miss you. Thought that was, uh. Kinda obvious by now.”

Klavier grinned victoriously; he looked seconds away from pumping his fist into the air. “Achtung, I knew it!”

“And the dorkiness continues,” Apollo said mockingly, rolling his eyes. “I mean it, how did you convince an entire generation of teenagers that you were cool? You go around saying crap like ‘let’s rock with these documents’ and ‘you have to get on up in order to get on down to prosecuting’ - are you an internationally-renowned rockstar, or an awkward dad trying to connect with his teenager through the power of classic rock? What’s next, Gavin, you gonna go buy a lawnmower and some cargo shorts? Fire up the grill and wear a kitschy apron?”

“Mein Gott, you’re vicious sometimes,” Klavier sighed, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Ich vermisse dich auch, by the way. I think I've been...a little more obvious than you.”

“Maybe,” Apollo hummed. “But hey, I’ll take it. It’s nice to feel appreciated for once.”

“When do you think you’ll be coming home?” Klavier asked.

“I’m, er...I’m not sure,” Apollo said hesitantly, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t think I was gonna be sticking around for this long to begin with, and now it’s...it’s gonna be the rest of the year, at least. Maybe even another year on top of that.”

“You...you think so?” Klavier’s voice was small. Nothing about his expression seemed remotely cheerful now.

“It’s not like I can leave whenever I want to,” Apollo shrugged, sighing. “Khura’in needs more defense attorneys before I could even begin to consider it, and that’s not gonna happen overnight. Not with their deeply ingrained feelings towards ‘em.”

“Wait - you’re not still in danger, are you?” Klavier asked worriedly, his voice suddenly filling with urgency. “No threats, no death sentences - ”

“I-I’m fine, Gavin, don’t worry,” Apollo reassured him. “It was a little touch-and-go there for a minute, back at the beginning, but everything’s fine now. Trust me, if something was going on, you would’ve heard about it earlier.”

“Gut,” Klavier said, satisfied. “After all, if something were to happen to you…” An odd expression flitted across his face, too quickly for Apollo to catch, though he had his suspicions. “Well. Trucy would be devastated, natürlich.”

“Right...just Trucy, huh?” Apollo murmured, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. “What about...oh, I dunno. Athena would be upset for sure. Can’t forget Mr. Wright, either.”

“Nein, definitely not,” Klavier said, clearing his throat. He paused before speaking again. “Forehead, do you ever wonder what Herr Wright really thinks of you?”

“Sure, all the time,” Apollo admitted. “We didn’t, uh...well, let’s just say we didn’t start off on the best foot, you know that. Why?”

“Because I do, too,” Klavier confessed. “Ach, I want to go the rest of my life not thinking about mein Bruder and all the lives he ruined, all the lives I helped him ruin, but - ”

“Gavin, that’s not what happened and you know it,” Apollo said gently. “And I’m not exactly sure how Mr. Wright feels about you, but I seriously doubt he still has a problem with you. He probably just feels a little, y’know, awkward. You guys went seven years without knowing the whole truth, after all.”

“Ich weiß, ich weiß, it’s just…” Klavier laughed bitterly. “...I’d like to go at least one day without worrying about what someone else thinks of me. Just one.”

Apollo suddenly found himself wishing he could reach through the screen and pull Klavier into his arms; it wasn’t the first time, and he knew it wasn’t going to be the last. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me. You already know what I think about you.”

“Do I really?” Klavier teased, though he still looked somewhat worried.

“Yeah, sure,” Apollo replied, smirking. “You’re the most insufferable person I’ve ever met. And, uh...I wouldn't have it any other way. I think.”

Klavier laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “You have a way with words, Forehead, you really do.”

“Thanks,” Apollo drawled, chuckling. “So, today’s case went about as well as expected - meaning it didn’t go well at all…”

_____

Khura’in was beautiful year-round, Apollo mused as he walked alongside the riverbank, but it was especially picturesque in the height of spring, during the month of May. He’d woken up unusually early today, especially given it was one of his very rare days off, not to mention the fact that he’d stayed up late last night, talking to Trucy, Athena, and Phoenix. For whatever reason, he had felt like taking his breakfast - anpan and a warm thermos of green tea - outside, while the sun was still rising. It was a peaceful backdrop for the start of what he hoped would be a peaceful day.

Yawning and stretching, Apollo dropped down to sit in the long grass, the worn-out toes of his boots grazing the water’s edge. He lifted his saddlebag off his shoulders and set it aside, raking his fingers through his hair. It was getting quite long in the back, he noted, but he didn’t care enough to cut it. Before he could take his first bite of his anpan, his phone started to ring. “...Gavin? What’s up, aren’t you going to bed soon?”

“I just wrote a song for the first time in ages, so I’m too alert to sleep at the moment,” Klavier admitted, his voice deeper and raspier than usual, sending shivers up Apollo’s spine. “I’m surprised you’re awake, too. It was only when I started calling you that I realized you were probably still in bed.”

“Felt like catching the sunrise for once.” Apollo turned on his phone camera, then switched it to the rear-facing one so Klavier could see what he was seeing. The entirety of Khura’in, it seemed, was momentarily bathed in a warm, yellow-orange glow. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s wunderschön,” Klavier remarked, awed. “Almost makes me wish I was in Khura’in.”

“I wish you were here, too,” Apollo said quietly. His eyes then widened. “Er, I-I mean - ”

“...Apollo?” Groaning internally, Apollo fumbled with his phone, reluctantly switching to his front-facing camera so he could shoot Klavier a nervous smile. He could see now that Klavier had turned on his camera, too; he appeared to be sitting on his bedroom floor, leaning up against a window, his face illuminated by moonlight. Somehow, his blue eyes were even brighter in the darkness, the angles of his jaw and cheekbones sharpened by the shadows. Apollo’s breath hitched as he was momentarily rendered speechless. “Achtung, you still manage to surprise me after all this time.”

“I-I said nothing!” Apollo said hastily. “You’re - I - i-it’s early, I don’t know what I’m saying!”

“If you’re planning on staying for even longer, I really should come and visit, ja?” Klavier continued, his grin equal parts sleepy and teasing. “For one thing, I can finally make good on that massage I promised you, get all that stress and tension out of your body. I could also bring you more of my clothes, since you seem to really like that hoodie of mine.”

“What would you even do here, anyway?” Apollo asked, momentarily looking away so Klavier wouldn’t see how red his cheeks had gotten. “There’s no nightlife, barely any recreational activities...not to mention the wi-fi kinda sucks. Besides, it’s not like you’re allowed to prosecute in Khura’in.”

“Let me be your co-counsel,” Klavier offered. “After all, if Herr Blackquill can help Athena, why can’t I help you?”

“That...would be kinda interesting, actually,” Apollo admitted. “And where would you stay?”

“WIth you, natürlich,” Klavier replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “After all, if you want me there, I should be as close as possible. I’d make the perfekt roommate, you know. I can cook for you, clean for you...it’d be domestic, nein? Like I’m your stay-at-home husband or something.”

Apollo shivered again. Despite his distaste for his lyrics, Klavier certainly had a way with words. “You wouldn’t be...I dunno, bored out of your mind? Things are definitely slower here compared to California, you know.”

“The change of pace would be nice,” Klavier said diplomatically. “And I certainly wouldn’t complain about the company.”

“Well, uh, sorry to break up your super-specific fantasy, but I think I’m actually pretty close to getting out of here,” Apollo said, trying not to linger too much on his own mental picture of what Klavier had described. “Another few months, maybe? Six, at most. And since it’s sorta unknown, I wouldn’t recommend booking plane tickets anytime soon.”

“Really?” Klavier perked up. “You’re coming home? Have you told the others?”

“Yeah, I talked to ‘em last night,” Apollo said, setting his phone down by his bag so he could finally take his first bite of anpan. “It’ll be weird once I return, that’s for sure. I’ve been in Khura’in for exactly one year, right down to the day, but...well. It’s definitely grown on me, even with all my...my mixed feelings about it. Though I, um...I guess those mixed feelings are more about a person than a place, and he’s...he’s, well...you know.” He swallowed thickly, reaching for his thermos and taking a generous gulp of his tea.

“Any regrets?” Klavier asked softly.

“About Khura’in, or d’you mean in general?” Apollo asked, his sarcastic tone betrayed by his nervous laugh.

“However you’d like to interpret it,” Klavier said, gesturing aimlessly. “I can be generous sometimes.”

“Yeah, real philanthropist, you are,” Apollo retorted, chuckling. “Well, you know I’ve had days where, like. I feel like I shouldn’t have stayed behind, after all. Like I’m way in over my head, and..like I’m not...not good enough. Like I’m just winging this whole thing, which is scary, ‘cos it’s like the entire country’s future is in my hands, and I can’t just - I can’t improvise. I can’t make it up as I go along, I-I have to know it. Do it, be about it. Make it my whole life, you know?” He stopped to take a breath; the sympathetic crinkle of Klavier’s brow was more welcome this time. “But no, I don’t regret sticking around. I just wish I’d gotten some closure.”

“Closure?” Klavier echoed.

“Yeah, there’s...I’ve got stuff I wish I’d been able to do or, or say before I ended up living here for twelve months,” Apollo confessed. “It’s not like I knew I was moving here when I did, so...it’ll be nice to head back home and settle in and...and get all of that out of the way.” He took a few more bites of his anpan as they ruminated in their shared silence. “How about you? Any regrets about, well, anything?”

“Me?” Then, to Apollo’s surprise - though maybe not to his surprise, given all that had been said and done between the two of them, just the two of them - Klavier let out a bitter laugh. “Always.”

Apollo’s face softened. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly, nein,” Klavier said, visibly shuddering. “Just once, I’d like to not drag our conversation down. Ach, and I used to think you were the buzzkill. Now look at me, ja?”

“Don’t worry about it, Gavin,” Apollo insisted. “I get it, you - you feel things really intensely. I know that now, and, uh. Well, I do it, too. And we hold it all in and we don’t say anything ‘cos there’s bigger things to worry about, a-and then it’s like...like a dam breaks. Like everything just comes rushing at you all at once. There’s no way of stopping it, as much as you want to, and when it’s finally over...you never know how to feel about it. Because it’s not cut and dry, i-it’s not black-and-white, it’s just...it just is. So you move on, ‘cos there’s nothing else you can do about it, and you keep going. And then it starts all over again.” He let out an awkward laugh. “Or, uh, or maybe I’m just describing what a trial feels like.” Apollo glanced back at his phone, only to see Klavier staring at him in wonderment. “...er, too much?”

“Not at all, it’s just...you’re always full of surprises,” Klavier murmured; he almost sounded impressed. “That was incredibly astute, especially for you.”

Apollo wilted. “...thanks. Glad to know you think so highly of my intellect.” Still, Klavier’s warm laughter managed to get him to crack a smile. “So, you said something about writing a new song? How’d that go?”

“I had a burst of inspiration, you might say,” Klavier said, nodding. “Like my muse sat beside me on the piano bench and hummed a melody in my ear.”

“That sounds more creepy than anything else, but okay,” Apollo snorted. “Can I hear it?”

“Nein, not yet,” Klavier replied mysteriously. “When the time is right, ja? Besides, it’s...it’s a bit personal.”

Apollo shifted slightly in his spot. “Personal, huh?”

“It’s about...someone who means a lot to me, and something I’ve been meaning to say to them,” Klavier said carefully. “Because...I’ve been looking for closure, too. And possibly, if I do it right, I might also get a new beginning. Does that make sense?”

“It’s a little cheesy, but, uh, yeah. Makes sense.” Apollo pulled his knees into his chest, resting his chin on top of them with a quiet exhale. “Do I know this someone of yours?”

“Ja, definitely,” Klavier murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And they’re not mine, but...I want them to be.”

“I...I see.” Apollo felt his own pulse pounding in his ears, so loudly that he could barely hear his own voice. “Hey, Gavin, I - I wanted to - there’s something I’ve been wanting to say, and...and I…”

“What is it?” Klavier asked, sitting up, hopeful.

“Well, I...no, n-never mind.” Apollo cleared his throat. “Probably should, um. I should probably save it for when we see each other in person.” Klavier leaned back, disappointed. “Anyway, you, uh, you should probably sleep now if you wanna be awake enough for work. Unless you take the day off like I did.”

“I might actually consider it,” Klavier chuckled. “And we’ll talk tomorrow, ja? Or later today for you, I suppose.”

“Definitely,” Apollo confirmed, nodding.

Something in Klavier’s eyes seemed to shift then, something Apollo couldn’t quite understand. It happened more and more with each passing day, with every conversation, and Apollo wasn’t sure if he was ready to figure out what it meant, if it meant something other than what he hoped it meant. “Du siehst wunderschön aus in diesem licht.”

Apollo blinked. “Sorry?”

“Never mind,” Klavier said, a sleepy grin stretching across his face. “Guten Morgen to you, Herr Forehead.”

“And goodnight to you, Gavin,” Apollo replied, waving briefly before ending the call. He sat in silence for a few minutes, finishing his tea and enjoying the sun’s warmth. Then, he stood, stretching his arms over his head, and smoothed out the creases in his pants and what was now his oversized purple hoodie. “Someday,” he mumbled to himself, slinging his bag over his shoulder and turning back in the direction of the bazaar. “Just...not yet.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my fifth entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the second of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. However, as I mentioned in the top notes, day seven is a sequel to this one, so look out for it! This is the second-longest fic of all my Klapollo Week fics, and for good reason - I could've easily included an endless number of random conversations and made this fic twice as long if it weren't for the posting deadline. One of my favorite things about writing Klapollo is their back-and-forth, so I love writing fics where they simply just...talk, and hang out. And I know it's definitely a concept that's been done before, but someday, I wanna write my own version of "Klavier visits Apollo in Khura'in and they fall (more) in love". That might end up being my longest Klapollo fic yet 😜

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you’re all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

#KlapolloWeek2021 #klapollo #kyodoroki #klapollo fic #ace attorney #ace attorney fic #myfic #long post #not sure if this one or day seven is my favorite #i definitely wanna write an extended version of this in the future

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pleasancies · 3 years

Text

Unlikely Caregiver

Made for @sicktember day 21 prompt : Unlikely Caregiver. A villain forced herself to meet the hero despite slowly dying. She expect the hero to focus on the mission, and leave her to die. Featuring a good ol' doorstep collapse. Warnings for death scares and vomit. Happy reading!

***

Left foot, right foot. Come on, Yu!

The B-list mercenary wobbles on her feet. A brief spell of dizziness made her weak on the knees, forced to hug a wall with a piss stain on it. She stayed there until the stars around her head petered out, loathing every second the offensive smell triggered her nausea yet too weak to step away. From afar, she look like another drunkard after a night out. Although her long coat and work boots doesn't translate well for a party.

Damn Asher for living out so far in the suburbs. Conformist hero with no taste. Why does she has to live there anyway? The commute time is unbearable and its a pain to reach when you're practically dying. Most of all, the place is bland. Yu groaned, then laughed as she emerged from the alley. She didn't know she could feel joy from finding a bus stop. There's spikes preventing her from lying down, but she could sit! Thank the heavens. She waited for the last bus, promising the universe if she survived this one she'd make it her life's mission to remove hostile architecture.

The bus arrives. It was empty. Yu could lay in her seat without disturbing anybody. The seat felt like silken sheets. God, the poison is truly wrecking her system. She had never felt this exhausted. Her head is pounding, and the cold air of the night keeps getting through her core despite the heavy coat. Yu's teeth chattered. Underneath her shirt is a blooming blotch of red and purple. Bruises forming under the slightest touch.

Her eyelids were heavy. The steady thrum of the engine almost lulled her to sleep. Yu drag herself up, wincing at the sudden ache in her joints. No, if she sleep now she might never wake up again. Have to stay awake. She still have unfinished business. Had to go to Asher's house. Tell her. Even if it took her life.

After the bus trip, there's still a way to go. Miles and miles of identical homes with even shittier dogs and children. No walls to hold her steady. Fine, Yu could deal. She'll crawl. The suburbs were eerily quiet as she stumbled along the sidewalk.

If Yu had a little more selfishness in her, she'd go to the hospital instead of going to Asher's. There's no guarantee the heroine would listen to her. But the group who poisoned her was even a bigger threat than dying. Yu is an unapologetic villain, she'd rob and maim desperate men with glee. But even the potential body count from the group's plans unnerved her.

Look where it got her, half-dragging her corpse along two endless rows of mediocrity.

Asher... She's one of the most annoying heroines Yu had met. Naive, ordinary, too afraid to actually live and think for herself. A forty-year old with superstrength. Gifted with a power and the biggest thing she'd dream of is working alongside cops. Pathetic. Just her luck that bitch is the only the one she could trust with sensitive information. Any of the bigger heroes could be in cahoots with the group, and anyone smaller doesn't have the strength to take them down. None of her fellow villains were as easy to contact. Bless proper opsec for that. Which is really sad, since the easiest supers to find apparently lived in a house at the far edge of the city.

House number fifty-six. Painted yellow, with an empty dog house at the front. She'd memorized the adress. It was right in front of her now. Not even a fence to keep others out. Yu felt her the last of strength die out and collapsed on the porch. She wiped her nose with her sleeve. There's blood on it.

"Asher. Asher!" Yu hollered. Her voice sounds a little too weaker than she liked. She rapped at the floor, because the door is just a little too far out of reach. "Come here or I'll fuck your dog!"

Rushed footsteps got louder by the door. Yu called for the heroine again. She took a shaky breath. Bitter nausea pooled in her mouth. Not now. She had to speak.

"Who are you?!"

Yu's words were cut off by a loud heave. She covered her mouth with her hands, but it wasn't enough to stop the gush of vomit from splattering on the porch and her clothes. As if she was a puppet cut off by the string, her arms lost its will and she fell face down to find the door already opened. Asher standing by with her pajames.

"How do you know my house adress?!" Asher said, panicked.

Of course that would be the first thing she'd asked. Yu gathered her arms, slowly lifting herself up, "Doesn't matter. The Syndicate from the Northeast. They're planning something big."

Focus overtook the earlier panic. Asher hurried to Yu's side, helping her up. "Hey, easy does it. What's going on with you?"

"Poison. Asher, your boss is working with the Syndics. So as the mayor, and maybe a good deal of the police force." Yu spat on the floor. The acidic taste won't leave her mouth. Her voice sound rough and haggard. "You have to call on the smaller villains and vigilantees. They'll help."

A hand felt her neck, then her forehead. The look of concern was clear on Asher's face. "You're burning up! We need to get you to the hospital."

"It doesn't matter!" Yu's anger surprised her. There was no time. She expect Asher to prioritize the Syndics. They don't wait for no one. Yu hated Asher, and the heroine is willing to break her spine if it means Yu stopped doing mercenary work with villains. She was ready to die, but Asher is rubbing her back with a phone to her ear.

"Hey, don't pass out. I'm calling an ambulance."

Messages sent, mission done, and Yu really doesn't really give a damn of what Asher said. Fuck staying concious. Her death might be an indignified one, but at least she won't go out doing what the authorities told her to do, even if it's to save her life.

***

Out of all the strange case of miracles, Yu found this to be weirdest one yet. She's alive. Body aching all over but still breathing. The hospital light made her head hurt. On her chest and stomach, there's stickers hooked to a machine.

"Don't go around crawling to people's homes yet. You're still sick."

Asher is sitting beside her. She gingerly placed her hand on Yu's forehead.

"Too warm," She furrowed her brow in concern. "Is there anything you need?"

"Water would be nice."

Yu glanced at the heroine, she looked just as off-balance as her. Confused, slightly uncomfortable, and maybe a little embarrased.

"So, when will you interrogate me and threaten all of my contacts?"

"I'm a hero, Yu. I don't do that. Yes, you should tell me about the Syndics, but I won't coerce you."

"You have the strength to crush someone's skull yet you choose go the long way round of talking. Curious. Nah, a waste of potential."

"Are you hungry, Yu?"

"What does it have to do anything I just said? No, Asher. I'm not hungry."

How wonderful that her stomach choose this time to growl.

Fuck, what did she do? Should've risk the distance and call someone else. She could imagine the how the next few weeks would play out. Long periods of awkwardness coupled with moments of pure vile. Yu doesn't work with heroes.

"I'll get the nurse," Asher was smug as she gets up from the chair.

"You don't have to find an excuse. Just leave, chase the Syndics and don't come back from. I get it. The public won't hold you responsible."

Asher sighed, "Yeah, I still hated you with all my guts. You almost died in front of my daughter! She was watching from the living room. How do I explain this to her?"

"The feeling's mutual, Karen."

"But the things is, I'm trying to meet you halfway. You drag yourself all the way across town to tell me this, because you recognize this is important. Your recovery's important too, and I'll do my best to help you despite our previous animosity."

She left, and it's like a weight were lifted off Yu's shoulders. Heh, her recovery's important. That's something she'll never imagine coming out from a hero's mouth. Yu put her hand on her stomach, nursing an ache that's halfway between hunger and injury. Asher's words left her feeling a tad bit like an open wound. She almost died. And it fucking hurts. Asher had saved her and felt her temperature like her mother used to do. Weird doesn't begin to cover it.

But maybe being stuck here with Asher wasn't the worst thing in the world.

#sicktember2021 #whump writing #villain whumpee #injury whump #illness whump #poisoned #fever whump #hero caretaker #emeto cw #unlikely caregiver #enemy to caretaker #internal bleeding

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be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Note

Can you write a fic where Hermione has a row with Ron and she was wrong? She is doing everything she can so he can stop ignoring her and tries to apologise.

Why, yes I can, Anon! I really liked your prompt so I kind of went to town with it. Sorry if this is longer than you expected.

My ask box is open!

***** Desperate Measures

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

At least that’s what Hermione kept telling herself to justify taking the day off of work. Not only that, she lied to her boss, and told him she was sick. It wasn’t a total lie, she did feel ill. But not for the reasons implied to her boss. As far as she knew, nausea due to shame and guilt wasn’t contagious.

Shame and guilt. That’s that real reason Hermione was at home, making an epic mess in her kitchen on a Friday afternoon. She wasn’t nearly as good at baking spells as Mrs. Weasley, and she was currently regretting turning down all of her past attempts to pass that wisdom onto her.

Hermione was stuck baking the muggle way, and it was probably going to be terrible, because Ron was used to the best treacle tarts in the world, and this was truly a sad attempt.

At least she had a second gift for Ron, if the treacle tarts turned out to be a disaster. A pair of tickets to the Chudley Cannons game this weekend was sure to get him talking to her again.

After setting the treacle tart into the oven, Hermione placed two plates on the table and lit a candle. She had picked up Ron’s favorite brand of wine, and put the envelope with the Chudley Cannons tickets onto the table between them.

It seemed like an extreme gesture, but this was not the first olive branch that Hermione had extended this week.

It had been four days since the fight. On Monday Hermione was startled by Ron’s abrupt entrance into their flat. She knew he had plans with his brothers that evening, but hadn’t expected him to arrive home so late. And even worse, so drunk.

*****

On Monday evening Ron arrived home muttering something about having too many gin and tonics at the bar. He collapsed onto the couch and was asleep before Hermione could argue with him. She was mildly annoyed that he didn’t communicate his timeline with her, but she was willing to let it go, even though that meant sleeping in their giant bed alone.

They didn’t interact the next morning, sinceHermione had an early day at work and Ron wasn’t supposed to be in until later, so she didn’t think much of him sleeping in. At least until later that afternoon when she came home and he was still there.

She woke him up immediately upon her return.

“Ron!”

“Hmmmph,” he grunted in his sleep.

“Why are you still sleeping?”

“What?” said Ron a little more clearly.

“Ron! It’s three in the afternoon! Why aren’t you at work?”

“Wait a minute,” said Ron groggily. “It’s three? In the afternoon?”

“Yes! And you’re supposed to be at work!”

Ron groaned as he carefully lifted himself to a seat. “Fuck, I slept in,” he muttered.

“You think?” Hermione said shrilly.

“I need to owl my boss,” said Ron, as he cautiously rose to his feet. “But first, I’m going to be sick,” he said as he ran off toward the loo.

Hermione was fuming when he reentered the living room looking somewhat presentable. “I can’t believe you got so drunk on a weekday and missed work--”

“Hermione--”

“Really, how could you be so irresponsible? You could get fired for this.”

“Hermione, please stop,” Ron said while he scribbled his note to his boss. “I feel guilty enough, I don’t need you to make me feel worse.”

“Well you should feel guilty!”

“HERMIONE.” She froze at the harshness of his tone. “Please stop. I don’t need you guilting me. Seriously, it feels like we’re in school and I missed an assignment.”

“This is far worse than that, Ron,” she said gravely.

“Do you even remember why I was out yesterday?”

“Does it matter??” said Hermoine. Truthfully, she didn’t remember why he had gone out with his brothers during the week, or why that minor detail would even be important right now.

“I can’t believe you.” After owling his boss, Ron turned toward the bedroom.

“Where are you going,” asked Hermione, following him.

“Well I’m going to work, Hermione. And I’m packing a bag, to spend the night at George’s.”

“And why would you do that?”

Ron halted, and turned back to face her. “Because he doesn’t micromanage me like you do.” Ron said as he shoved a change of clothes into an overnight bag.

“Ron--”

“Plus, he needs a brother right now.”

Hermione didn’t have time to respond before Ron disappeared. She was still angrier than ever and couldn’t believe he would be so dismissive and irresponsible.

It wasn’t until later that day when she checked her calendar that she realized the date, and felt her stomach tighten in guilt. It was April second. Ron must have spent the last night at the bar with George to celebrate his birthday, so he didn’t have to celebrate it alone.

Since he never mentioned the reason to her, he must have assumed she knew. He probably expected her to understand, and rightfully so. But instead, she jumped to the conclusion that Ron was irresponsible and neglectful, when he was really just taking time to grieve with his brother.

He continued to sleep at George’s, which concerned her, and she wanted him back. The next day after their argument, she appeared in his office at lunch time to ask him to eat with her. She even brought a sandwich from his favorite deli, but he told her he had a work meeting and would eat it later.

She left him to it, but later saw him eating lunch with Harry and a few other employees at the ministry cafe. Her first instinct was to be angry at his, but instead she just felt hurt. Then she became more determined to make it right.

The next day Hermione left a note on his desk for him to see when he arrived at work. It was simple, and didn’t say much, other than the fact that she missed him and wanted him back home. Unfortunately for her, Ron had to spend the day in the field, and didn’t even come to the office. She wouldn’t have known that, of course, because he was still staying with George.

Yesterday, Hermione left even earlier than usual to make a stop at the bakery that Ron loved so much. She bought a chocolate croissant for both herself and Ron, and just like the note, delivered his to his desk that morning. She hoped he’d be in this morning to enjoy it.

On her lunch break, she received an owl from Ron, which simply told her that he was planning on coming home the next day, and they could discuss everything then. She was unable to work at all, caught up in her anxiety overthinking what Ron could possibly mean by “discuss.” What did they even need to discuss?

Her anxiety grew into guilt and shame for getting angry at him for missing work and not understanding that Fred’s birthday would come with a heavy dose of grief for him. That’s when she decided to play sick-- something she’d never done before, and stay home the next day to make sure Ron would return knowing how much he meant to her.

*****

Funny that she was now the one missing work. How irresponsible of her. She couldn’t help but feel a little bit like a hypocrite.

When the oven sounded, she turned back into the kitchen to remove them, and nervously awaited Ron’s return.

She heard the door open and whipped around to see him standing there. He looked miserable. His hair was disheveled, his clothes were messy, and his expression was worn out and exhausted. She wanted to hug him, but didn’t know if that would be welcome at the moment. She opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a lame sounding “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said back, as he dropped his bag to the floor side the door. She hated when he did that, but it wasn’t the time. “Rough day. Well, rough week, actually.”

She walked forward to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her, but noted a certain stiffness in his embrace. They still had things to talk about. “I’ve missed you,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I’m glad you came back.”

“Yeah, well. I missed you too.” He pulled away and looked at the table over her shoulder. “What’s all this?”

Hermione pulled away and looked him in the eye. “Because you’re mad at me. I wanted to do something nice for you so you’d forgive me.”

“Hermione--”

“You lied to me about not being able to go to lunch that day. And you didn’t see my note, and obviously the chocolate croissant wasn’t a big enough gesture--”

“Hermione please stop.”

She paused and looked up at him with hurt in her eyes. “What?”

“Just listen. Please.”

Hermione nodded.

“You didn’t need to do any of that. Yeah, I was angry at you, but mostly just hurt that you reprimanded me. I shouldn’t have gotten too drunk on a weeknight, and I shouldn’t have slept in and missed work, but It was Fred and George’s birthday, Hermione. Only the second one since Fred passed and George didn’t want to spend it alone.”

Hermione had tears in her eyes by the time he finished. “I realize that now! I do, I just didn’t realize it at the time. I just thought you were being--”

“Irresponsible. I know.”

Hermione nodded.

“I was Hermione. But guess what, I’m going to be irresponsible every now and then. You’ll just have to accept that. I will learn from those times and I don’t need you to make me feel worse. I hate it when you do that. It reminds me of being in school when you would reprimand me for breaking rules. As an adult it feels a bit condescending to be honest.”

“I just didn’t want you to lose your job.”

“I didn’t Hermione. Because unlike you, my boss was very understanding. Harry told him everything.”

She ignored Ron’s little jab and pressed on. It would be unproductive to add fuel to to another argument. “But why did you have to stay at George’s for a whole week?” Hermione pleaded.

“Because I knew it would happen again. I am still grieving him, and I will be for a while. This week was very hard on George too, and he needed a brother with him. ”

Hermione nodded. It made so much sense now. “Why could you tell me?”

“I needed to be with someone who wouldn’t judge me for drinking a little too much this week, because I knew it would happen. I know it’s not the best way to deal with everything, but having you guilt me about it would only make it worse.”

Hermione flung herself into Ron’s arms. “I’m so sorry Ron.” His grip on her was tighter now, more secure and loving, which sent a wave of relief down her spine.

“That’s all you needed to say,” said Ron, pulling her closer.

“What was?”

“Sorry. You just needed to say sorry.”

Hermione pulled out of the hug to press a kiss to his lips. He kissed her back lovingly. .

When they resurfaced Hermione asked, “So you didn’t like my note? Or the Croissant? Or this dinner, for that matter? I even picked up your favorite wine and--”

“It feels a bit like you’re bribing me to forgive you, to be honest,” he interrupted.

Hermione hadn’t thought of that. “So you didn’t like it?”

“Oh I did, don’t get me wrong. But hearing you admit you were wrong was even better.”

Hermione laughed. “Yeah, well it’s harder for me to do that than it is to buy you chocolate and cook you dinner.”

“Exactly. That’s why it means so much,” he said with another kiss.

“Well in that case, I guess you don’t need the treacle tart I just pulled out of the oven,” said Hermione.

“Well I wouldn’t want it to go to waste,” he replied, flashing that lopsided grin that Hermione loved so much.

“Ok, we’ll have the treacle tart. But since you’ve already forgiven me, we don’t need the Chudley Cannons tickets…”

“Hold on… you got tickets?”

Hermione nodded smiling.

“For when?”

“Tomorrow’s game.”

Ron beamed. “You really did?”

“But I wouldn’t want you to feel bribed into forgiving me,” she said coyly.

“I take it back,” he said, as he passed around her to reach for the envelope on the table. “You can bribe me.” Ron opened the envelope and gasped. “Hermione these are fantastic seats.”

“So you still want them?” she said hopefully.

“Of course I do!” Ron’s face fell. “There’s just one problem.”

“What is it?”

“I told George I’d spend the day with him tomorrow. I’m so sorry, I really want to go with you.”

“You know what?” said Hermione. “Take George to the game. He could use the distraction.”

“Are you sure?” asked Ron, his face lighting up in excitement.

‘Yes. Tell him I say happy birthday too.”

“Hermione, he’s going to love it. Thank you,” he told her, pulling her into another hug.

“It’s the least I can do,” said Hermione, secretly relieved that she didn’t have to go to the Cannons game, and could spend the day tomorrow reading instead. “Take him out for a drink after too, ok? On me.”

“Really?”

Hermione nodded. “I was wrong before.”

Ron smiled and kissed her deeply. “I love hearing you say that,” he laughed.

Hermione laughed too. “Well maybe I should say it more often then,” she said as she kissed him again.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, but sometimes the desperate measure could be as simple as an apology.

#ROMIONE #hpromione #hp ficlet #hp fanfic #ronweasley #Hermione Granger #ron and hermione #ron x hermione

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 3 years

Text

Auld Lang Syne (Jack x Rin)

Word Count: 3200

Warnings: None! Complete fluff.

A/N: inspired by @magic-multicolored-miracle winter prompts. New Year's kiss. o one asked for it 🤣 This is a sequel to "I'm A Creep" <-- Found here

She came to this little bookstore as many days a week as time allowed. Maybe it was becoming a bit obsessive, Rin’s constant reasons to spend hours there instead of a library. There was a collection of unread novels piling up on the coffee table of her council flat off the high street. Any excuse to be nearby

With the holidays fast approaching, her catering job kept her busier than ever. The constant flirting and serving and pleasing executives and drunk administratives and book editors and bankers managed to fend off the memories of the last time she ended up in the psych hospital. That and plenty of time made everything slow down and spread out over days instead of the constant hours she once spent. Her senses now and then brought Jack back to her like the waves in his mental pond crashing over her. She would be taken off guard for just a moment or two, but the parties kept them back at bay.

Two months in the psych hospital was all they spent together. A month that seeped into her dreams and waking moments for half a year after Rin was released. How she and Jack never spoke again after that night. He grinned awkwardly in her direction during their next group therapy session. Squinting his eyes like he was trying to place where he knew her from, but that was part of her gift. Sometimes, they woke up from a dream and forgot she was ever apart of them.

Before Rin could blink, Emma had come to take Jack home. Emma who smiled fondly at the “barking” girl with scarred hands who carried the flame of hope from her heart to her brother. At least that's what she communicated to Rin as they brushed fingertips on the way out. Jack was safe. He was loved. Emma would make sure he could handle the world without messages and the dead people who plagued him for so long. A few more days, and Rin was dropped back out in the world too.

Still, as the song goes, she learned to muddle through somehow. It had been a rather peculiar stretch of time Rin had gone without thinking of his unearthly eyes or that mass of dark curls on her neck and chest as they.. A bell over a door she didn't remember stepping in broke her out of the reverie.

Rin found herself inside a small shop with shelves eight or nine feet high. That musty smell of tangible books invaded her nostrils and she inhaled deeply. With eyes closed, she put her hand on the first row she could find and melted into the memories imprinted on them. She was struck by an unexpected wave, but instead of drowning she rode it to shore. There was a squeaky creak that often accompanies a wheel and just knew someone was on one of those ladders that glided across the shelves.

“You alright, loov?” that Yorkshire accent filled Rin’s ears and she squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “You look like you've seen a ghost,” he chuckled at a joke he felt only he understood.

He was a few feet above her when she finally opened her eyes. He dipped precariously from the ladder like he was swinging from a rope on a pirate ship. Those eyes shining brightly as they reflected the white lights decorating the store. Rin didn’t need to touch him to know he was happy. She could see it on his face as he smiled in her direction. Even in hospital she never knew he had dimples.

“Jack,” it came out before she could help herself.

He arched an eyebrow curiously in her direction. Head tilted in thought. Then looking down at his name tag he puffed air out of his nostrils “Right,” he tapped it “Forgot I was wearing this.”

Rin’s shoulders sagged in defeat, then unexpectedly “Have any Dickens?”

What the hell, she chided herself.

“Do we also have tea in the Queen’s country?” he teased. Rin’s cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. “sometimes we forget all the books we've read. I've forgotten loads since I was sick a few years back. Lived rough then was in hospital while. Dunno why I said that.”

“I think we tell strangers our secrets because we’ll never have to see them again,” Rin spoke softly.

“If you never come back, I was a bad salesman. Always looking for repeats.” Was.. he flirting? “Any Dickens will do?”

“Oliver Twist?” Rin signed and closed her eyes. Her face was on fire. You've had sex with this bloke, and he's got no bloody clue.

“Oi! I like Edwin Drood best. Old man dropped dead right in the middle of it all. Never got a proper ending. Ever been on one of these?” Jack gestured towards the ladder. Rin shook her head so he opened an arm. “Hop on with us then!”

“You give all the girls a ride?” Rin found her voice. She climbed up and settled herself against Jack’s body. Her naked hand closed over his; she felt a jolt go through his chest which tensed in response.

“Not- Not usually?” he stammered and tightened his grip around Rin’s waist as they slid along the shelves. “Do we know each other from somewhere? You just feel familiar. Dunno why I'm thinking of a bird.” Jack spoke more to himself.

“Well, actually, name is Wren-”

He cut her off, “But your brother couldn't say it right, so everyone calls you Rin.”

Jack’s body relaxed into the young woman’s. Maybe it was reflex, but he cautiously buried his face in her hair and inhaled.

Rin swallowed a smile, and found little ways to touch him that day. Little ways to touch exposed parts of Jack everytime she visited the store. Innocent explanations for their hands lingering when he handed her the twentieth book she didn't need. To flirtatiously brush the curls away from his forehead as he leaned over the counter when they talked.

And almost every single time Jack leaned into it. Reciprocated. Started remembering little parts of Rin from their time in section. Not the big messy memories, just bursts from time to time. She was ok with that. She would take him anyway she could.

Now here she was, two days before Christmas with her hands on the ornaments in the shop window. She had something wrapped in brown paper in her purse and was biding her time as Jack helped the customers buying last minute gifts.

Soon it was her turn, and Rin placed the gift on the counter simultaneously with Jack doing likewise. There was unexpected laughter, the way Jack's tapered off into a giggle from a loud outburst. Infectious as it was, Rin joined in.

“If we got each other identical presents, you're coming to mine for New Year’s,” it wasn't a question. “Emma and her partner know you somehow. Must be from around the visitor’s during..” His voice trailed off.

“Our time in the nuthouse?” Rin offered.

Jack leaned over and brushed his nose against Rin’s cheek out of the blue. They lingered momentarily, before he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I've done that before,” another assertion as his verdant gaze settled on Rin’s lips.

Picking up the package, Rin shoved it playfully into Jack’s chest so that he was forced back. “Open your gift!”

“Fine!”

Jack mimicked her tone as he tore into the wrapping paper at the same Rin dove into hers. They both held up books simultaneously and fell into a fit of giggles.

“OLIVER TWIST!”

“EDWIN DROOD?!”

In unison: “FIRST EDITION?!”

“I can't believe I never knew how much you loved books,” Rin was blunt.

“I'm not sure how much we spoke for you to find out.” Jack hugged the book tightly to his chest. “I'm not sure how much I spoke to anyone outside of group and therapy.”

Rin took one of her million chances when she placed the palm of her hand against Jack’s cheek. He relaxed into the touch, eyes closed and sighed contentedly. Under the surface he was warm and bright like the Christmas lights. She wouldn't let herself pass any further than the happy memories. Impassioned ones of mouths and hands and fingertips and hugs.

Perhaps it was the particular sensation Rin spread out from herself to Jack that triggered a reaction. One of him leaning across the countertop to bring their lips together in a chaste kiss that lingered longer than it should have.

Jack recovered and righted himself before apologizing. He was compelled in the moment out of gratitude. “Meet us here on New Year’s, yeah? So we don't have to be alone.”

“You've got family, Jack.” Rin reminded him.

“So we don't have to be alone for the New Year,” he only repeated. It was a date.

------

Rin took the early shift on New Year’s Eve so she could tear out and get ready. The nerves coiled in her stomach as she scrambled to fix hair that wouldn't fall right or apply make-up that made her resemble a street walker. She sighed, defeated, and told herself this was all she could give.

Still Jack threw a large grin in her direction as he closed up the shop. He wolf whistled and Rin felt her face catch fire.

“Aren't you a stunner?” he pecked her cheek and gave the woman before him a spin. She loved the way it came out sounding like “stoonah.”

“You got a big date or something?” he teased before taking her by the hand.

“I needed extra money for the holiday so I thought I'd hang around a street corner. Fifty quid and a warm cot, I'll do whatever you like” Rin shrugged and winked coyly.

Jack rolled his eyes, but his demeanor changed as he traced the network of scars on the back of her hand so delicately Rin felt tears in her eyes. She swiped at them swiftly hoping he thought it was the chilled breeze.

“Dunno why I did tha,” he dropped the hand abruptly and buried his own in a jacket pocket. “Not my place to touch (tooch) you when you didn't ask.”

Uncomfortable silence.

“does anyone else work here besides you?” Rin gestured towards the store as they started walking, she assumed, to Emma’s house.

“Sometimes Emma and Billy. Only when I get too overwhelmed.”

Rin linked her arm with Jack's to break the weird tension. “Do you manage it?”

“I own it. Why need a job? Maybe a bit of a conflict if the boss has a bit of a flirt with the shopgirl innit?”

“OWN IT?!”

Jack laughed, “Not bad for a nutter who talks to dead people and was not long for Big Issue. Why do I say this shit to you?!”

“I'm like a truth serum?” she offered.

They wound their way through a lovely neighbor with houses no one Rin knew could afford. She remembered Jack’s brother-in-law was a lawyer. He told her his sister left him not long after he got out. Had to be spousal support and a settlement, but she didn't prod.

“I helped someone a while back. Someone kinda connected. Well-known, I guess? I tried to sort out his missus when she tried suicide.”

“It didn't work in the end.”

“At first. It's how I got sectioned. The voices. His voice. She was ok for a bit. His family sent me letters. They figured I knew something. What I knew got them a conviction. I got a reward. Doesn’t always feel like one if everyone’s dead now does (dooz) it?”

It was Rin’s turn to lace her fingers with Jack's. “You helped someone's family find peace. Sometimes that's enough even if you kinda lose yourself in the process. Look I let what I can do almost kill me. That’s what put me in hospital.” She held up the gashed scar along her wrist. “But that gave me yo-” Rin swallowed the word. “I got to use my gift one last time. And he's happy! Even if he forgets who I am.”

“Who could ever forget you, love?”

They were quiet the rest of the journey.

-----

Rin sat on the edge of the pool as her feet dangled in the bath warm water. Her brain flashed back to the lake where she experienced Jack drowning in his own mind. Bogged down by medication he didn't need while the dead clung to him. Then they had surfaced, she nearly torn apart by the ghosts Jack fought with. Bellowed that he was no longer their messenger. They tried to take her as compensation.

Now false water filled Rin’s lungs as a fake grin spread across her cheeks. The chlorine and tropical air made her nauseous, ready to vomit. Of all the things Jack could have suggested they do, swimming at 11pm would not have ever crossed her mind.

“There was a kid, lived here before Emma, died right. Mean little bastard too. Suppose dying like that might get a kid angry as long as he was tied to it.”

Jack stood on the pool’s edge, toes curled around the stone. His face went a bit dark as he narrowed his eyes in the direction of something Rin couldn't see in the opposite corner. He clenched his fists. She knew it was a silent standoff between Jack, and most likely, the dead boy.

It was only a flash of his old self before Jack snapped to. He grinned like the Cheshire cat as he undid his jeans and tore his sweater off. Then headfirst into the deep end leaving Rin to squeal.

“WHAT are you doing?!” she yelled as he bolted towards her underwater.

“Dunno fancied a swim. It's rather lovely water considering it's January. Plus,” he pointed towards the ceiling, “Look up.”

Rin followed his finger and gazed upwards. A large glass window spread the night sky before them. Millions of stars shone through, stars she never really bothered searching for. She was overwhelmed by other people's emotions, literally, that she never had a quiet moment to herself so that she COULD look up.

“Don't you wanna to join me?” Jack’s question was rather coy as he side-stroked back and forth.

Rin shook her head, “I'll sit here and watch.” She glanced down at the wine bottle she nearly forget, “And drink.” So they did.

Now her anxiety was churning her stomach. A coat of alcohol warmed her further than just the temperature of the pool room. Her chest was tight with lack of oxygen as she struggled to not cry. So she focused on the long, thin body completely relaxed on the water's surface. What a lovely distraction it was.

Jack floated along lazily on his back, boxers leaving nothing to the imagination. That secret part of him Rin had not seen in two years clearly visible. Now her face grew flush with desire and the memory of how good it felt for once to be touched by a man because he cared about her. How they made each other sing.

Jack must have sensed something because he righted himself and swam towards her. Those hands on her calves and knees to part them slightly so he can stand between them. He was silent as he reached for the bottle of wine.

“Rin, be honest,” his voice filled the silence of the room. “Can you swim?”

Rin's heart pounded so loudly in her ears that Jack was muffled. The way he looked at her, desire emanated from him. There was a disconnect between his brain and body. Those hands on her thighs remembered exploring her but the rest of him didn't. They lingered between innocence and the verge of obscenity. If he wanted, Rin would have sex with him while a houseful of people partied and danced within ear shot.

“i can swim!”

Jack pushed off the wall and splashed her in the process. “Do you think I'm sexy?” he was drunk. Head tilted as the wet curls clung to his face.

“A blind person would think you're sexy. You're taking the piss because I won't get in.”

“Of course I am! Come on. I'll hold you?” he raised an eyebrow. “It's almost midnight. I want to be with you when it is.”

“We're together enough, Jack”

“No!” he waved his hands. “I want to hold you.I don't know why, I know I have before? I feel like there's just this.. Ever since you came to the store it’s been like trying to remember a dream I had once. And some part of me is saying you know how to help because you've done it before?”

Realization spread across Jack's face, “Rin, am I the one who forgot you?”

“It happens sometimes. I think.. I think my abilities shut off a part of people who no longer need me or want me?” she shrugged it off.

“How could I not want you?”

It was such an innocent thing to ask. One Rin had asked herself every time someone used her. Her parents turned her into a sideshow freak for their religion. Men and their sick desires that she tapped into. Even she didn't want herself most of the time.

But Jack had been alone. Left to his own devices and literally haunted. Rin never needed to touch him to know how sad he had been when he first was sectioned. It emanated from him. He knew about self isolation and mistrust. And especially about gifts that would ruin you if they could.

There wasn't a thought left. Spurned on by the purity of his question, Rin hurried out of her clothes and eased herself into the pool. She swam as quickly as her body allowed before throwing herself in Jack's waiting arms.

Their arms and legs tangled together in the water. Rin wrapped herself around Jack's hips, her arms draped across broad shoulders. She twisted her fingers up in his hair and let her body meld into his.

Jack held Rin's head in his hands. Their foreheads pressed together as he nudged the tip of his nose along her face. Careful, at first,

to only brush his lips on her cheeks and eyelids. Then the countdown started.

Everyone in the house started counting down excitedly, and Jack stopped being cautious. It was cliché how their mouths found one another hungrily as the guests screamed Happy New Year! How Rin's empathic touch sent a wave of electricity that visibly shocked Jack's body as they began to sing. As if she plugged his body into his brain and there was a spark that brought him to life.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

For days of Auld Lang Syne

They relaxed into one another. Their kisses became languid but no less passionate. Everyone stormed the pool around them, splashing and laughing and hollering. Emma drunkenly interrupted the couples’ warring lips and tongues.

“Took you fucking long enough,” she teased her baby brother. “I kept hoping this would happen.”

Rin buried her face in Jack's chest as he held her tight. That bright fire that flowed from Emma to her and Rin to Jack back in hospital took root again in this house and pool.

“Me too.”

We’ll take o cup of kindness yet

For days of auld lang syne

#robert sheehan #jack #the messenger #robert sheehan character fics #jack x rin

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janiedean · 3 years

Note

Finn/Poe/Rose with background Reylo as a prompt if you're up for it? Optional theme Modern AU/heist 💙

SURE I'M UP FOR IT UU uuuh have a pseudoleverage au because that's the only heist show I remember enough with that theme

"When this is over," Poe mutters, "I'm telling them."

"You are not," Finn says through the comm, "going to tell Rey and the boss that getting over their unrelased sexual tension of the last, uh, three years, means that they're not planning jobs well."

"Well," he replies as he stands outside the door he's guarding really hoping that no one notices the fact that a supposed catering waiter should not be alone in this one room, "isn't it the reason why we're in this fucking mess? Rose, how are you holding up there?"

Rose, who is behind that door trying to crack the mark's safe when she should have been cracking it in peace inside their van, but of course that didn't happen because fucking Ben Solo didn't check the intel well enough because he and Rey were too busy thinking about other things and so now while he should have been out in the main room keeping an eye on their host he's here trying to make sure no one walks in while Rose has to crack the safe.

And it was supposed to be an easy job on top of that. This renewed university scientist named Din Djarin comes to them, says that his esteemed colleague Fett stole his research of the last five years which was extremely secret because it was for the military and at the end he had decided he didn't want them to have it and this Fett of course managed to kick him out of the research project and take all the merit, and he's planning to discuss them during the gala they are currently hosting in the next room. They barely even needed to plan - Finn would be outside with the van after getting Poe's fake documents into the list of the catering waiters so he could slide in, Solo would manage to get an invite for himself and Rey thanks to his mother's connections, it's not like people don't think his actual job is being a weird modernist artist, and they could sweet-talk the mark into postponing his talk as much as possible, Poe would be in the room keeping an eye on things and helping them out if needed after opening the window for Rose to slip in so she could steal the safe, they'd get the plans and their money, easy and nice, right?

Except that since Solo and Rey finally gave in to their frankly ridiculous situation of unreleased sexual tension a couple of weeks ago they have barely been doing anything else which meant that Solo fucked up the intel, as said, and didn't realize that the safe was encased in the wall instead of being removable. Which is why he's stuck outside the door in his horrid catering outfit, and of course apparently the safe was supposed to be an easy model to crack, while -

"Yeah," Rose says, "it's going to be at least another ten minutes. Sorry, this is... I mean, if I had known -"

"That's all right," Poe says, "you didn't cause this cock-up. I am so telling them."

"You're not," Finn says, "not with all the time it took for them to get over themselves."

"The fact that Rey is your best friend forever doesn't mean I can't have their hide."

"You will not or I'm withholding sex for a week."

"That," Rose says, "is a low blow. Especially since Poe is kind of right."

"See, she sees it," Poe sighs, but then he supposes that it would be downright mean to have their hide. "Fine," he says, "but Solo doesn't drive the van for the next month."

"Fair," Finn nods - the Falcon technically used to belong to Solo's father but it had ended up with them while Solo was hanging out with people he should have never hung out with and now he's adamant about driving it half of the time when Finn isn't, but like hell he's letting Solo even go near the driver's seat after this. "You can drive when I don't until we all decide they're in the clear, and of course they couldn't have comms so I have no idea what's going on in there - you really can't go check?"

"Yeah, and what if someone walks in here, notices that the safe door's lock is offline," because a green light was on before but since Finn hacked it it's gone off, "opens it and finds her there?"

"Fair," Finn sighs, "I guess I have to break out the other catering outfit. You do have the spare keys, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I can drive off with Rose if you get stuck. Godspeed," he says, and then Finn's line goes dead.

"He was serious about the sex, wasn't he," he says a moment later.

"He sounded like he was and honestly, I sorely need some after this mess is over," Rose replies, "so maybe don't make him withhold. Not that we wouldn't do great, but."

But it's the three of them for a reason, Poe would know, he is one third of their - whatever they have had going on for the last year, and none of them likes being without the third for too long, so - he gets it. Still.

"Well then," Poe says, "I'll be lenient. How is it going over there?"

"Give me a second and I might have something," she says -

Right as someone opens the door.

Specifically, Mr Fett's assistant.

Ah, fuck.

"And what are you doing here? This room was supposed to be locked," the guy says.

Poe shakes his head and knocks him out before he can warn anyone and really hopes that they can get the hell out of Dodge soon or before they notice his man is missing.

"Oh," Rose says, "got them."

"Well," Poe breathes in relief, "then get out of that room and let's run."

Too bad that the moment she walks out of the door with the plans clutched to her chest, the damned bodyguards show up.

Poe pulls back his sleeves and thinks that for this one job he's asking Solo for a fucking pay rise.

An hour later, Solo and Rey are sitting in the back of the van with Rey looking at him apologetically as she stitches a fairly bad knife wound on his arm and he keeps some ice to the bruise on his cheek that he really hopes won't turn purple.

"Solo," he hisses, "if that guy knocked my teeth out, you're paying for dental out of pocket."

"Will do," Solo replies sounding like he's actually half-ashamed for once.

"Woah," Finn says from the Falcon's driving seat as he speeds up, "you aren't even complaining once?"

Solo shrugs. "Well, I did fuck up the intel. At least did we get all the plans?"

"All accounted for," Rose says, having just finished thumbing through them. "I'll give our esteemed client a call and then we don't want to hear from you two for the next two days. Am I wrong?"

"Nope," Poe groans, "absolutely not."

"Good with me," Finn replies, "especially if it means Poe can't even move that much this evening."

"I didn't need to hear that," Rey snorts as she finishes her stitch row.

"Yeah, well, you don't have a choice. By the way, Solo? No driving for a month and we get ten percent extra."

"... I guess it's fair," Solo hisses through his teeth.

Well.

All in all, Poe decides, if tomorrow they only worry about all the sex they're going to have and Solo doesn't bitch about letting Poe drive for a month, maybe even if the job was a mess, he can reap the benefits.

Still, next time he's so having Finn triple-check the intel. No fucking doubt about that.

#i have no idea of the ot3 shipname ops #poe x finn x rose #i guess????#reylo #star wars for ts #my fic #ten years anniversary promptfest #maybe i should have tagged the other one too #OH WELL #anyway here you go anon have the random leverage au now i have some uni stuff to do #but i'm filling another couple before tonight #<33

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Praise Me Up (Gigi x Nicky) - moonshot

A/N: moonshot here! thank you for the anon who suggested the gigi/nicky rivarly prompt! I had so much fun writing this, basically 4.1k words of Nicky driving Gigi insane while some of the season 12 (and some special guests) are in for the ride! Please feel free to let me know what you think of it! - moonshot

Gigi knew she was the perfect candidate for the promotion. That was until she found out Nicky Doll, the infuriatingly stunning model-tier beauty from the French branch of the company and recently had moved to NYC, was also being considered for said promotion.

At first, she wasn’t bothered at all when Nicky came to the office permanently. One could say she was almost excited to have someone else so verse in high fashion, as the older blonde had worked for the lengths of Vogue Paris. Gigi had always thought that the foreign woman would bring an added layer to their already impressive fashion editorial.

That was until Gigi realized how much alike they really were, flaws and all.

And the realization came pretty much during the first time she was officially introduced to Nicolette Doll .

The American blonde was well known around her office for being an avid make-up enthusiast thanks to her former job as a make-up artist prior to joining Needles & Co., arguably the most notable fashion editorial in the nation, the year before, so it was almost a given that her colleagues would ask her for advice, especially Heidi from the Closet.

Cue to her blonde wannabe-Broadway star Jan calling Gigi over to her desk to ask for advice for a special night out with her girlfriend.

“Gigiiii, you have to help me! I don’t know which lipstick to match with my eye look for tonight! It’s Jackie and mine’s anniversary, I can’t do my usual nude lip, I want something more… fancy?” The New Jersey woman pouted, half whispering not to have said girlfriend hear the conversation from the desk booth down the row.

“What’s the eye makeup you’re going with? The usual purple, lilac moment?”

Jan nodded, “Yeah, you know me. Do you have something in mind that could work with that?”

Gigi stood quiet for a moment, her mind running through all the various possible combinations, “Well, I would go with a-”

She was interrupted by a sultry accented voice, “I’d suggest a dark nude color with some coral undertones, I got one from MAC, it’s called Stone, I can let you borrow it if you want”.

The long-haired blonde squealed in joy, “Oh my god, that would be great, Nicky. You’re a lifesaver!”

The fashionista turned around to see who was the supposed ‘live saver’. She was met with the brightest icy blue eyes she had ever seen, framed by an impeccable soft smokey eye. A pair of pouty lips accentuated by a fiery red lipstick smiled at her in an almost mischievous way. Short blonde hair, perfectly styled, completed the editorial worthy look.

“I don’t believe we have met before,” she extended her hand, covered by a sheer black glove, “Nicolette Doll,” the French woman squared off Gigi’s slender figure from head to toe, “you can call me Nicky. I got transferred here last week. Genevive Goode, I suppose? I heard a lot about you from the others”.

Gigi shook her hand firmly, a fake smile on her face, how much she hated when people used her first full name, “Yeah, that would be me. Gigi is fine. If I’m not mistaken you have worked for Vogue Paris, right?”

“You’d be correct, it’s thanks to Miss Chachki’s kind words on my behalf that I was able to get a position in this editorial. I’m sure you’ve heard of her”.

Of course , Gigi had heard of the legendary Violet Chachki, her idol ever since she had found her passion for fashion.

“I sure have,” the younger woman didn’t let any of her inner discontent come through on her face as she continued to speak, “well, I hope you are finding our office to your liking”.

Nicky smiled back, a glimpse of something Gigi couldn’t quite understand in her gaze, “So far I’m liking what I’m seeing, chérie,” she commented, quickly turning to Jan to let her know to remember to give her the lipstick before her attention went back to the blonde in front of her, “I can’t wait to work with you, miss Goode”.

“Likewise,” Gigi simply replied as she watched the French woman walk down the room to what she assumed was her new desk.

She was definitely not looking forward to working with Nicky.

As the months went by, what was driving Gigi insane was the fact that, besides herself, everyone seemingly beamed after the French beauty.

Jan - and Jackie by proxy - had already gone out multiple times to the karaoke bar down the street from their office with the blonde woman, only to have them talk about it the following day while they sipped on their steaming cups of coffee. Gigi had learned that Nicky was not only gorgeous but also a phenomenal singer because of course, she was.

The older blonde had become Jaida’s, her desk neighbor, go-to party girl for the free drinks Friday nights at the local queer club. A position that use to be Gigi ’s. Granted that the dark-skinned beauty still asked her to come out with them but never in a million years the young fashionista was going to get caught going to the club when Nicky was also involved.

Hell, even her own best friend, Crystal, had grown fond of the foreign woman, much to Gigi’s displeasure.

“Oh, c’mon! She isn’t that bad at all! She actually complimented my makeup!” She proclaimed excitedly, twirling a long strand of her brown mullet around her index finger.

Gigi looked up from the stylized drawing of her latest dress idea with furrowed brows, “Crystal, she said you look pretty for someone who paints like a clown ”.

The brown-haired woman’s expression didn’t change, if anything, her smile had just gotten bigger, “Still, she said I’m pretty!”

“Ugh!” the blonde went back to her drawing, mindlessly filling in the drawing.

“Honestly, Gi… you should give her a chance. You two have a lot in common!”

“That’s the problem! It’s basically like looking at a copy of me! I bet you that if I shaved my head, she would come in the next day sporting a bald head and call it being avant-garde!”

Jaida butted into the conversation, having just come back from the bathroom, “Girl, don’t you dare go bald. That Halloween look as that damn robot still haunts my nightmares,” she added from behind the sitting blonde before taking a closer look at Gigi’s drawing, and chuckled, “Nice drawing of Frenchie”.

“What?” The young blonde looked down at her drawing, this time paying attention to what she had drawn. It did look an awful lot like a stylized version of Nicky.

“Fuck!” She whined out, quickly crumpling the drawing and tossing it to the other side of the office.

It was as if the universe was against her when the piece of paper landed just in front of Nicky as she walked into the room. She bent over and picked it up, quietly examining the drawing. She swayed her hips as she walked towards the trio, a smirk on her face.

“Chérie, if you wanted me to model for you, you could have just asked,” she said with a wink before walking to her desk, prompting a laugh from Gigi’s two close friends.

The fashionista groaned loudly, a blushing creeping on her, “I hate everyone!”

Thinking back to the day when Miss Needles called into her private office on the 12th floor, Gigi knew something was up when she was forced to share the elevator with Nicky on the way up. She was tempted to close the door on the older woman but she had been too slow. What a pity.

“Which floor?”

“12th”.

Gigi tensed her jaw for a moment as she pushed the button before resting her back on the wall. The ride was awkwardly silent, neither of them thrilled to strike up a conversation as they went up.

“ Toi t'es bon qu'à planer, ouais je sens t'as l'seum, j'ai l'avocat ”.

The older blonde has seemingly had enough of the silence as she quietly sang in what Gigi assumed was French. She would never admit Nicky’s singing was actually as good as Jan had boasted her to be.

“ Entre nous y'a un fossé, toi t'es bon qu'à faire la mala ,” the French ran a hand in her short blonde hair, eyes closed as she waited, that smirk Gigi detested flashing on her lips.

Before Gigi could say anything, the familiar sound of the elevator doors opening filled the small space. Nicky gestured to her to go out first, “After you, chéri”.

The younger blonde scoffed, quickly exiting the elevator and making her way to the door of her boss’ office, not waiting for the older woman.

She gently knocked three times and waited for a reply.

“Come in”

How she was tempted to close the door on Nicky’s face, again.

Gigi entered the office to find Miss Needles standing up, looking out the window to the New York skyline. The statuesque woman turned around with a bright smile on her face that surely contrasted with the intense sharp makeup she was wearing.

Working for Aquaria Needles had been a pleasant surprise for the young fashionista. She was a little over a year older than Gigi and yet, at 24, after working in her teen years as a runway model, she had already taken over her mother’s role as editor in chief while the matriarch of the Needles family had decided to step down from the spotlight for a while.

Gigi had gathered quite the respect for Aquaria, who was truly a 180° from her stoic, almost spook-inducing mother, Sharon. However, she knew not to get on her bad side as she was still a Needles, after all.

“Oh! You’re both here already, that makes my job much easier as I can explain myself just once,” she started as she sat down in the expensive-looking faux leather chair, “please take a seat, we have a lot to discuss here!”

The two fashion queens of the office sat down, keeping their bodies as far from each other as possible, neither really trying to hide their discontent for each other.

“So, as both of you know, May is coming up and so is our annual special issue for the Met Gala. Now, I’ve been keeping an eye on both of you as you two are our best designers,” Aquaria continued, her bright blue eyes staring intently to the two women sitting in front of her, “Miss Hytes-Mateo has recently announced that she is transferring to our branch in LA in a couple of months time, which means the position of creative director will need to be filled up”.

Gigi’s eyes widened, which had been the promotion she had been looking up to ever since joining the team as a mere intern two years prior. She had to have that.

“And this is where you two come into play, for the next month leading up to our May issue, I’ll be regularly checking with both you two and Brooke Lynn to determine who is the best candidate for the position once she’s gone. Have I made myself clear?” Aquaria finished up, waiting for a reaction from either of them.

Nicky was the first one to speak up, “It’s an honor to be even considered for such position, Miss Needles”

The editor in chief smiled, her hand waving in front of her, “oh please, you can call me Aquaria, Miss Needles reminds me too much of my mom. Anything you’d like to add, Gigi?”

“I’ll make sure to show you that I’m the perfect candidate for this promotion,” the younger woman replied, she wasn’t going to let that French blonde take her spot.

“If you don’t have any question, I think we can call it a-”

Aquaria was interrupted by the door opening. The two designers turned around to see a short petite woman peeking in the room, her long blonde hair perfectly framing her face.

“Sorry to interrupt, Miss Needles but your mother just called and wanted to remind you that she is expecting you to have lunch with her tomorrow at noon,” the woman said with a soft voice.

Gigi turned back to the editor in chief, not failing to notice the blushing cheeks on the young woman’s face. Everyone around the office knew about Aquaria’s crush for her assistant, Miss Heller (she could still hear Widow’s voice, “It must run in the family! Didn’t her mother meet her current fiancé because the woman worked for her? Miss Thunder, was it?”).

“O-Oh okay, thank you for reminding me… but I told you to call me Aquaria, Brianna”.

“And I told you, as much as I want to, your mother won’t let me, Miss Needles,” she replied playfully before turning her attention to Gigi and Nicky, finally noticing the duo, “oh, sorry for the interruption. Goodbye!”

She closed the door behind her, leaving a quiet Aquaria, staring at the door.

After a minute of silence, Nicky cleared her throat, waking Aquaria up from her own thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah okay work, we are done here! Both of you, enjoy your day. I’ll be sure to let Brooke Lynn know you are ready to start,” the editor excused them, turning her chair around to, once again, stare at the beautiful skyline.

The two designers exited the editor’s office in silence, walking up to the elevator. Gigi nervously tapped her foot as they were descending back to their floor.

As they reached their floor, she felt a hand grab her wrist, “may the best woman win, chérie”

That was the only thing Nicky said before leaving Gigi alone.

She sure planned on winning.

For the following month, if Gigi had thought Nicky was insufferable before, now that they were officially competing against each other, the French woman was downright perfect in everything she did. Nicky with her stupidly gorgeous frame, impeccable style, and sultry voice. And those sheer gloves, those goddamn gloves.

If Gigi did something that earned her praises from Brooke Lynn, there would come Nicky Doll with something that was just that much more innovative, bringing the spotlight on herself. It was driving Gigi insane. The younger blonde was desperate to find something, anything , that she could use against the older woman.

The young blonde sat quietly as she elaborated her next move to bring Nicky down, her close friends chit-chatting next to her.

“Girl, I think y’all two should just fuck it out!”

Gigi rolled her eyes at Jaida’s suggestion for the nth time. Everyone in her friend group had caught onto the fact that she despised the French designer and mercilessly teased her about it.

“Not this again! I don’t like her, Jaida,” she replied with a dead-pan voice.

“Who said anything about liking her? You can cut the sexual tension between the two of you with a goddamn butter knife!” Widow commented with a knowing look, the blonde promptly ignored it.

“Bet 20$ y’all fuck by the end of the month,” Jaida announced, getting a laugh out of the Missouri women.

“I bet 30$ they fuck by the end of the week ,” Widow added, always in to poke fun at the young tall fashionista.

“Oh God! Fuck you both!”

“Chile, girl, save that for Frenchie over there,” the dark-skinned beauty chuckled out.

Gigi simply rolled her eyes again, her attention shifting its focus from the conversation to a particular blonde that was standing across the room from her.

She furrowed her brows. She hadn’t realized that Brooke Lynn had come down to their floor. Nicky was talking to her with a smirk on her face. Something she had told must have been so funny as the Canadian laughed out loud. The French woman touched the taller woman’s arm and it looked like she was… flirting ?

The younger designer inhaled sharply. How dare she?

Gigi quickly got up from her seat, ignoring the confused looks on her colleagues’ faces. She walked over where the two women had been talking, clearing her throat before speaking up.

“ So sorry to interrupt but may I have a word with Miss Doll right now? It’s urgent,” she faked a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Oh, sure. We’re done here anyway. Thank you so much, Nicky. I’ll reserve a table at that restaurant then. Have a good rest of the day you two” The tall Canadian replied before making her way to the elevator.

Gigi didn’t lose any time as she grabbed the older woman’s wrist and walked both of them to the nearest free storage room, closing and locking the door behind her. If they were going to talk, she didn’t want anyone interrupting them.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing? You flirt too now? Is that what they teach you in France?” the young fashionista’s voice fully expressing her anger.

For the first time since they had met, Nicky was speechless and confused, “ Pardon ?”

Gigi scoffed, “Oh, now you play dumb? Do you think I didn’t see you flirting with Brooke Lynn just a minute ago, getting all touchy? Talking about going out to restaurants? Are you that desperate that you’re going to sleep with her for this promotion?” She let out all at once while the short-haired blonde stood in silence.

She had an unreadable expression on her face. She opted not to reply, instead, she slowly took off her gloves, placing them on one of the shelves.

“You are absolutely un-fucking-believable. I wasn’t flirting with her. If you had even just once got out of your head, you would have realized how desperate you sound right now,” she answered calmly, slowly walking up to Gigi, who was in return backing up, “She came up to me to ask for my opinion on which one was the best French restaurant in Manhattan, as she wanted to surprise her wife for their anniversary”.

The younger blonde gulped, suddenly feeling the tie around her neck suffocating. She found herself trapped between the wall next to the door and Nicky’s body, the distinct smell of her Chanel n°5 perfume going straight to Gigi’s head.

The French woman took her tie in her hand, toying with it as she further pressed their bodies together. She slid one of her thighs in between Gigi’s slender legs. The latter can’t help the soft moan that escapes her lips.

“You know what I really think of you, uh?” Nicky put her hand underneath Gigi’s chin, forcing her to look her in the eyes as she spoke, “You’re just a mommy’s girl, wanting to please everybody, having them say how much of a good girl you’ve been, isn’t it right?” The French woman let her hand down the younger girl’s body, reaching the single button on her blazer and unbuttoning it.

Gigi shivered as she felt the cold air hit her bare chest, Nicky’s warm hands making her feel even more the temperature difference.

“That’s why you think you hate me, but, chérie, you’re just scared of me,” she continued, her slender fingers grazing on the erect nubs on her chest while her naked thigh pressed harder against the clothed core, “Scared that someone might be better than you and get that praise you desperately need. You want everyone to think you are this perfect little bitch who is better than everyone else. That facade doesn’t fool me, I see right through it. You still have so much more to learn, you have no idea, chérie”.

The younger woman whimpered as she felt Nicky’s lips press down hard and bite the pulse point on her neck, her knees almost giving out on her if it wasn’t for the older woman’s thigh keeping her in place. The short-haired blonde smirked as she traced the very evident mark she had just left with her tongue, her mouth slowly making her way up to Gigi’s ear.

“That’s for thinking I would sleep with Brooke Lynn for the promotion, salope ” she growled out before biting down on the earlobe. The American gasped loudly, inadvertently jerking her hips forward, causing even more friction between her center, covered by her favorite tailored pants, and Nicky’s thigh. She froze at how good it felt, something she hadn’t felt in months.

The French woman didn’t lose any time in pressing herself harder against Gigi’s body, her mouth ghosting over the younger woman, “Oh, won’t you look at that, uh? Fucking yourself on my thigh? That eager to prove you don’t need my hands,” she pinched one nipple and palmed roughly the other exposed mound, “or my mouth to come?” She taunted her, biting the other woman’s lower lip, “well, then, be my guest, chérie ”.

Gigi moaned as Nicky kissed her roughly, the short-haired woman’s hands never leaving her chest. The younger girl brought her arms around the other designer’s neck as her body started to rock her hips against Nicky, melting under her touch.

“If I knew it only took putting my thigh between your legs to shut your pretty mouth up, I would have done it the first day I came here,” the French woman mocked her as she focused on leaving more marks on Gigi’s pale skin, flushed by the pleasure she was receiving. She felt Nicky’s skirt ride up as she fastened her thrusts against the naked tanned skin.

“F-Fuck you ,” Gigi managed to let out only to be met by a laugh from Nicky.

“Already am, chérie,” she commented, as she left another hickey on Gigi’s sensitive spot on her neck.

As the friction got greater and as she grew hotter, Gigi could start to feel her heat and wetness seep through her pants, wetting Nicky’s skin in return.

“You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate to come all over my thigh?”

The younger designer was at a loss of words, her heart pounding so loudly as she could feel herself being moments away from her release, she could only nod.

“Well, then, be the good girl you are and come for me. Let them hear how much of a salope you are for me, uh?” Nicky finally whispered in her ear, as she met Gigi’s thrusts.

The American woman gripped tight onto the other woman’s blouse, not caring if she was crumpling the fabric. The intense orgasm washed over her, her legs trembling, her breath hitching as she tried to recover.

Nicky backed off, looking down to the thigh that was now glistening with a light coat of sweat and Gigi’s wetness. She ran two fingers over it before bringing them up to her own mouth, keeping eye contact with a flustered Gigi as she licked them clean.

The younger designer was trying to catch her breath when she saw that same stare she had when they first met in Nicky’s eyes. The older blonde took a longing gaze all over Gigi’s still exposed skin.

She smirked, “À bientôt, chérie”

She took her sheer gloves off the shelf where she had placed them, quickly putting them back on before turning to unlock the door and left.

Gigi blinked a couple of times, trying to register what had just happened. She looked down on her own body, realizing she would have to change after the mess she did.

“ Fuck! ” she muttered before buttoning back up her blazer and making her way to convince Heidi from the Closet to let her change into one of the outfits they kept around for the magazine photoshoots.

She came back to her desk 20 minutes later, trying her best to look as if nothing had happened, which turned out downright impossible as soon as Jaida saw her.

“Hey, what’s with the midday outfit change… wait, is that what I think it is? Oh my god! Y’all did it!” she exclaimed in shock before turning to Crystal, who had walked over, “Damn it! Girl, you were right, they couldn’t last the day”.

The mullet-haired woman rejoiced, “Yay! 50 bucks for me!”

Gigi shot her a look, “Crystal?!? You betted against me too?!”

Her best friend shrugged her shoulders, “What? I need money to save up for the eventual future One Direction reunion because I KNOW it’s real!”

The young designer shook her head, she was never going to see the end of the teasing. She opened one of the desk’s drawers, grabbing her color correction palette and her favorite full coverage concealer.

As she worked her way around her now colorful neck, she looked up to meet Nicky’s icy blue eyes. She scoffed when the French blonde winked at her, however, the smirk on her own face betrayed her.

The American woman crossed her legs. It was just the beginning and Gigi knew it, but now she didn’t mind the competition. If anything, it added some French flavor to the plate.

But first, she had to google what the fuck did ‘salope’ meant.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #nicky doll #jaida essence hall #crystal methyd #widow von du #jan sport #aquaria #brooke lynn hytes #miz cracker #gigi x nicky #cisgirl au #office au #smut #moonshot #submission #s12

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breanime · 5 years

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Helpless

Part One of the Billy Russo bodyguard AU that nobody asked for... haha, but I figured, since I finished Yellow Diamonds, it was time to start another Billy series. Let me know what you think! This first part is setting up the tension.

Warning: Descriptions of violence

*gif by @benbarnestongue*

You weren’t looking for anything when you’d gone out that night. Really, you just wanted to have a few drinks, maybe dance a little, and go home—alone. It had been a hard week, work was rough, you were behind on your bills, and your landlord had threatened to kick you out again, so you were just looking for a distraction, something to take your mind off of the chaos that was your life. Your goal was to find something cheap and strong to drink, which is what brought you to the dive bar in the first place, and you sat at the bar, ignoring everyone else around you, determined to get in, get buzzed, and get out.

Instead, what you got was Billy Russo.

“This seat taken?” He’d asked you, New York accent oddly pleasing to your ears. You turned to look at him to discover his face was even more pleasing than his voice was. He was tall, thin and lean, with dark hair and darker eyes. He was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, but he wore them well. He was easily the best-looking guy in the place, and he wanted to sit next to you.

You glanced around the bar, noting several empty seats and tables he could have gone to instead, some of which were in the direct vicinity of girls better looking than you were, yet he chose to come up to you. You looked back at him before turning away, feigning disinterest. “Nah man,” you’d said, bringing your lips to your almost-empty glass, “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” He sat beside you, and he was almost close enough to touch. You noticed his biceps as he put his elbows on the bar, clocking the muscles in his toned arms. He signaled the bartender and ordered a drink: Jack and Coke, before turning to you. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asked. “You’re looking kind of empty.”

“Sure,” you put your drink down, “Thanks.”

“One more for the lady,” he ordered, making you smile. “What?” He asked, smiling back. He had a great smile.

“It’s not often I’m called a lady,” you said back.

“I’d settle for your name,” he said easily.

“Y/N,” you stuck out your hand.

“Billy,” he shook your hand, and you liked the way he gripped it, “Billy Russo. So,” he leaned back, eyes appraising you in a way that was surprisingly pleasant, “if you’re not a lady, what kind of girl are you?”

You grinned. That was a loaded question. The bartender slid your drinks over to the two of you, and you took a sip before you answered. “Why don’t you take a guess,” you challenged him.

He smirked, leaning in a bit closer. You turned in your seat so that you were fully facing him as well. His eyes washed over you, traveling down your body slowly, leaving goosebumps without even touching you. You felt your heart speed up when he looked back up at you, eyes staring into yours with a sense of confidence and intimacy that was startlingly appealing. “You’re here alone,” he started, “but you’re not trying to pick anyone up, even though you easily could,” he licked his lips, voice dropping a bit, “Lookin’ like that…” He eyed you up again, clearly liking what he was seeing. “I get the sense that you don’t take shit from anyone,” he went on, “and if you didn’t want me here next to you, I wouldn’t be.”

“Well, you did ask nicely,” you’d said back.

“Not that nice,” his grin was really starting to win you over; it was hypnotizing, “You came in alone,” he said, and you wondered how long he had been there to know that. You’d thought that you’d have noticed a man like him watching you, and you were usually pretty aware of eyes on you. Hm. “And I’m guessing your plan was to leave here alone too, right?”

“That was the plan,” you answered, fully aware of what you were implying.

“You’re a take-no-shit, leave-no-prisoners kind of girl,” he surmised, leaning back in his seat with a smirk, “You’re my kind of girl.”

Four hours later, you were lying naked on your back in his bed, sweaty and breathless. Billy was next to you, grinning at the ceiling. You turned your head and looked at him; he really was a beautiful man—and VERY talented in the sheets. Billy looked back at you, giving you a smile that was all teeth.

“So,” he asked, rolling onto his side and putting a warm hand on your thigh, “What are the chances we can do this again sometime?”

You grinned back, legs still tingling from his attentions. “I dunno,” you said, “what are the chances you make me cum again?”

“Three times wasn’t enough?” He asked, already leaning over you for a kiss. You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the kiss. It was like he had been created in a lab for you, exceeding all of your expectations and touching you with the clarity of a long-time lover, even though you’d just met. His tongue slipped in your mouth at the same time his fingers slipped inside of you, making you gasp into his mouth. “It wasn’t enough for me, either.”

You saw him again the next night, and the night after that as well. Every time you were with Billy, you felt your fondness for him grow. He didn’t tell you much about himself or what he did for a living, but then again, neither did you. The two of you were effortlessly compatible, a fact that even he couldn’t deny, and so it was an easy task to be with him. Before you knew it, you were at Billy’s apartment for five days in a row, leaving in the morning as he got ready for work, trading kisses and dirty promises on your way out the door. He was an ex-Marine; he’d told you, shown you a photo of him and his unit in Afghanistan. You didn’t know exactly what he was doing now, because he told you he was no longer on active duty, but he still went to work—or somewhere—every day. You didn’t ask. It was none of your business. You two liked each other, obviously, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you: this, whatever it was, was just for fun. It meant nothing, and there didn’t need to be any feelings involved.

Which is why you didn’t cry when one day Billy stopped returning your calls, and why it wasn’t hard at all to move to a different city once you got prompted at your job. You told yourself it was for the best, and it was fun while it lasted—which it was. You ignored the random pangs of longing that came out of nowhere every now and again, telling yourself it was just because you needed to get laid; you missed the sex, not the man, after all. After the first few months went by, it hardly hurt at all, thinking about Billy.

You were pretty much over it by the time a year rolled by…

…more or less.

You woke up in a bad mood. You’d dreamt of Billy Russo, of his kiss and smile, his long fingers trialing up and down your skin, and you woke up irritated, at both yourself for even having the dream, and at Billy for not being there to soothe you. Your mood hadn’t improved as the day went on; you were annoyed with your co-workers, who were nervous and twitchy as you got ready for your next job, annoyed with the wait, the jitters and what-ifs that came before the rush, and annoyed with your boss for being the insufferable asshole he always was.

“Listen up, ladies,” he said, even though you were the only woman there, “This job is a two-parter,” he was standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, “Tonight we go for the driver; he’s gonna have the routes, passwords, and plans on him. With that, we’ll be able to get in and get out before anyone even knows we’re there.” He looked over at you, eyes hard. “I’m counting on you for this one, Y/N,” he said, “You fuck it up, and we’re all going to prison.”

You didn’t react, just gave him a bored stare. This was common, the pressure he put on you before a job. But you could take it—you always could.

He stepped over to you, boots slamming against the concrete floor. He was armed, you knew, because he was always armed, but you didn’t budge, just watched as he stomped over to you, looking up calmly as he towered over you. “This is where you tell us all that you’ve got it covered,” he growled.

You looked past him and saw the others looking at you. Alex, the tech guy, was at his computer, hacking into something, you guessed. Justin was standing next to Jamal, both of them cleaning and checking guns. Ronnie was supposed to be listening to the police scanner, but his eyes were on you. The new kid, Khalil, was openly staring. This was his first major job, so he hadn’t seen this display before. You looked back up at your boss, Big Joe, and knew what it was he wanted you to say. “I’ve got it covered,” you parroted, “Dad.”

He nodded, stalking off to try to intimidate one of the others, pent up energy going where it always went with him: outward. Newly irritated, you got up and went over to Khalil. He was prepping the bags, making sure the zippers all worked and the handles were sewn on tight. It was grunt work, to be honest, but…the kid was a grunt.

“Are you nervous, Y/N?” He asked.

You liked Khalil. He hooked up with you guys to make some money to pay for his mother’s medical bills. He was a good kid. “Nah,” you answered, taking a bag and helping him check it, “I’ve been doing this too long to be nervous.”

“Yeah…” He looked away before glancing back up at you. It occurred to you then that he was probably just in his teens. He shouldn’t be here. “I, uh… Didn’t know Big Joe was your dad…”

“He’s not,” you put the bag down and grabbed another, “He adopted me when I was a kid, Ronnie, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “Ronnie’s my adopted brother.” You looked down at Khalil; he was captivated. “Joe’s been having me help him on cons since I was 11,” you went on, feeling unusually talkative, “It started out as just some soft shoplifting, dine-and-dashes, stuff like that. Then we graduated to pulling scams on white collar guys, blackmailing them for a briefcase full of cash,” you hated those days, hated having to even be around those stuck-up assholes, have to let them look down on you the way they did, “Ronnie started robbing corner stores and stuff, turns out he had a talent for it, so Big Joe let him in on his big jobs. I wanted in, so I convinced him to let me drive the getaway car,” you smiled, tossing the last bag back to Khalil, “And here we are.”

“I’ve seen you drive,” he said, awe clear in his voice, “Alex showed me some footage from the job you did in Miami, you’re incredible.”

“Thanks.”

“Like, that’s what I want to do,” he went on, “I want to be like you, so badass, make that crazy cash—”

“Listen,” you stopped him, “From someone who’s been doing this for most of her life, let me tell you: it ain’t shit. Robbing trucks on the highway, having to look over your shoulder all the time, never being able to settle down or be completely honest with someone…” Your mind provided a picture for you then, a flash of dark eyes and a shining smile. You pushed it away. “…It sucks, man. It’s shit.” You leaned down so that only Khalil could hear you. “After this job,” you whispered, “you need to take the money, take your mom, and get as far away from Joe as you can.” You stood up, looking him in the eye to make sure he heard you. Then you walked away. It was almost time for the job. And after this two-parter, as Joe called it, you’d take your own advice, grab your money and your brother, and get the hell away from that man as fast as you could.

The plan was simple, repetitive even; you drove the crew up to the target’s truck—an armored truck transporting fresh new bills to a bank, as well as the copy of the next delivery, route, and access codes to several of the company’s ATMs—and Joe led the guys, Justin, Jamal, and Ronnie, onto the top of the truck where they cut a hole in the ceiling. Justin and Jamal were charged with collecting the money, packing it into the bags Khalil had prepared earlier, while Joe and Ronnie handled the driver. Ronnie kept the driver occupied with threats (and violence) if need be, and Joe—communicating with Alex, who was in the back of your van—hacked into the locked case and got the codes and plans. After that, it was all you. The guys would get back in the van with you, and you’d make sure you all got back to the safehouse without having to deal with the cops. From then on, it was only a matter of checking the plans and routes and whatnot, making some plans of your own, and doing one last job. Easy peasy.

But then the driver had a gun, and he was shooting and yelling, and you could barely hear anything in your headset beyond the sound of bullets and screaming. You swerved, moving the truck to the right sharply when the armored truck nearly ran into you.

“What the fuck is going on?” You asked into the headset, trying to keep the van as close to the truck as you could.

“Get ready,” Joe huffed into the receiver, sounding out of breath, “We’re getting the fuck out of here!”

You did as he said, bringing the van right next to the truck, despite the haphazard driving and swerving, and reached up, opening the sunroof for the guys.

“The fuck is up with this driver?” Alex asked, shifting as you had to swerve once again to avoid being run over.

You didn’t know, and so you didn’t answer. You jumped, as you always did, when you heard the crash of a body hitting the van—the boys were coming back. Joe dropped in first, breathing hard. He pulled Ronnie in next, then Justin.

“Go, go, go!” He shouted, climbing into the passenger seat beside you.

“Where’s Jamal?” You asked, looking up at the truck, expecting to see him standing on the roof, ready to jump.

“He’s dead, let’s go!” Joe answered.

You looked into the rearview mirror and locked eyes with Ronnie. His eyes were wide and watery, and you noticed blood on his face and shirt.

“Drive!” Joe’s voice brought you back to earth, and you hit the gas hard. When you looked back at the road behind you, you saw the truck veer off to the shoulder and crash, and you knew why the driver had been driving like that before: he was dead.

No one spoke all the way home, there was complete silence all the way until you pulled in. Khalil was waiting for you all in the garage, ready to go through the bags of cash for any dye-packs or unmarked bills. He froze when Ronnie stepped out. “Wh—what happened?” He asked, voice shaking. He blinked. “Where’s Jamal?”

“Dead,” Joe answered, grabbing one of the bags and tossing it on the ground, “We need to go through these.”

“How did he die?” You asked, voice hollow.

Joe threw another bag on the crowd, back to you. “Driver had a gun. Shot him in the chest.”

“W—we should have taken him with us,” Justin said, eyes overflowing with tears, “We just left him…” He looked up at you and Ronnie. “I didn’t see him die, he could still be…”

“He’s dead,” Ronnie said. You looked over at him. You’d ever heard his voice like that before, so full of anger. His eyes were on Joe’s back, but Joe was still clearing the car out. “Joe shot him,” he went on. Your blood went cold. “He killed the driver, and then walked over to Jamal and shot him in the head.”

Joe stopped moving, but didn’t turn around. He just stood there, his back to his crew, as this revelation came out.

Justin was shaking, and Alex moved away from Joe, as if he could catch ruthlessness from the other man like a disease. Khalil moved closer to you, and you would have felt sorrier for the boy if you weren’t so disgusted by Joe. “You killed him?” Justin asked, tears streaming down his face.

“He was already dying,” Joe said without turning around, “I had to make sure he wouldn’t talk. He was dying anyway.”

“We don’t do this,” Ronnie said, shaking his head. His hands were balled at his side, and you could practically feel the rage coming off of him. “We don’t kill people; we don’t kill our own people…”

“We rob,” you agreed, staring at Joe’s broad back, “And sometimes—sometimes, someone gets hurt, but we don’t kill. We never have.”

“You never have,” Joe twirled around, eyes wide and wild, “I did what I had to do—and I’d do it all over again if it meant I get my money and my life!” His voice echoed in the silent room. “That’s why I’m in charge,” he went on, “cause I make the hard decisions, I keep this operation running! I’m the one who took you off the streets,” he snarled at Ronnie, “saved you from your crack fiend mama and taught you how to thrive,” he glared over at you now, “And I’m the one who took you in when your parents died, brought you up from nothing. So all you bitches can shut the fuck up, dry your damn eyes, and start clearing these bags!”

No one moved.

“You killed Jamal,” Justin whispered, soft and slowly like he was testing the words, “You killed him.”

“That’s manslaughter,” Ronnie said, “Two counts, life in prison.” He shook his head again, disgusted, “You’re done, Joe.”

“How dare you talk to me like that,” Joe hissed, “I’m your father—”

“—You’re not my father,” Ronnie snapped back, “or hers! You’re an old man who’s gonna spend the rest of his life in prison—”

“—How?” Joe asked. “No prints, no evidence—I didn’t leave shit behind!”

“I’m not going down for you,” Ronnie said, taking a step back, “I’m out.”

You opened your mouth, ready to say the words as well, when you were interrupted by a loud bang. You blinked, feeling something warm and wet erupt on your face, and the next thing you knew, you were staring down at your brother Ronnie…

…with a hole in his head.

Everything happened in kind of a blur after that. You vaguely remembered screaming, and you must have touched Ronnie, because later you noticed how bloody your clothes were. You had never felt so helpless in your life as you had as you held Ronnie in your arms, watching him take his last breaths. There was nothing that could have been done, even you could tell that the shot was fatal, and once he finally stopped moving and you felt him go limb, you knew he was dead.

Joe had made some kind of speech then about betraying him, gesturing with his gun and yelling and cursing, but you hadn’t heard it. All you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears. The boys all went back to work, grabbing the bags and going through them, but you didn’t move. Even when everything was packed up, you stayed on the ground with Ronnie, staring down at his lifeless body. You vaguely registered movement from your peripheral and saw Alex and Justin leave. Khalil said your name above you, but you didn’t look up. You heard his soft “I’m sorry” before he left, too. A few minutes later, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You looked up to see Joe. He didn’t look at Ronnie, made an effort to avoid him, actually, as he stared down at you, feigning regret. “I had to,” he said lowly, “I had to… He was my own son,” he shook his head, closing his eyes as if he was just so hurt, “and he was gonna betray me, gonna rat…” He opened his eyes again. “I had to…and I’ll do the same to you if I have to.”

You watched him walk away. Then you got up, knees wobbling and hands shaking, and got in your car.

By the time you made it to the police station, you were all out of tears to cry.

*******************************************************************************************

Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! I have the next part ready to go if anyone is interested in this plotline.

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#billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #the punisher #helpless fic

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ohmeohmayohmy · 5 years

Text

With the Slightest Smile, Chapter 6

Taglist: @reedusteinrambles @juxt4p0siti0n @kurtnehhhh @singularpurplepansy @chlobo6

Notes: Tumblr was throwing a fit, so it’s taken a while to upload this bad boy. But good god, my heart is thawing out from that sweet, sweet Brian emotional turmoil. I love the man, and sometimes my heart aches for him. Maybe someday things will get better for him. I’d like to think so. Also, DAMN my boys are looking fine. 💕

Warnings: Implications of sexual nature (nothing in detail, no smut), a little bit of drinking, brief mention of body image issues, some F-bombs.

Words: 8.1k+

___________________________________

August 20, 1973

4:04am.

Again.

Only twenty four hours ago, you spent sweet time with Brian, together in the kitchen you shared, enjoying each other's sleepy company. Presently, Brian was alone, laying in bed, trying not to watch helplessly as the time ticked away on his bedside clock. Twenty four hours ago, it was as if you were all his, and he was all yours. No one outside of the confines of the flat existed.

But life goes on.

You were still at work.

And Brian had yet to fall asleep.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what happened at the nightclub mere hours ago. What transpired between you and John. It was cycling through his mind on repeat: the hope in Deaky’s eyes, how enamored he looked through the haze of intoxication; your response, how you held your hand to his chest before telling him no. What Brian couldn’t seem to move past was how you said it. You made it clear that you had no intention of saying yes to John under the influence of alcohol, but that didn’t mean you would still refuse in another situation. He wanted so desperately to convince himself it was the man, not the moment, but all that would come to mind were images of you and John laughing, with you sharing a smile that Brian wanted for himself. It was all too familiar, and he didn’t think he could endure losing you to someone close again.

Years ago, he came up with the rule that neither of you would talk about romantic interests unless prompted. You agreed. He never asked, so you never told. Now, it was all Brian could do to not ask you how you felt about Deaky. He was afraid to know the answer, but god, he wanted to.

Though the window was cracked open and the fan was blowing, Brian felt that the air filling his room grew hotter and staler with each passing minute. He tried to get out from the blankets, to rid himself of any excessive insulation, but in doing so he only managed to get tangled up more deeply in the sheets. Kicking and straining, Brian’s right leg broke free, followed by his hips and torso, then he wriggled his left leg into the coolness of the bedroom. He flung his tee shirt from his clammy chest, and stripped his boxers, throwing them directly at the hamper across the way. None of it seemed to help.

No matter how free he was, Brian still suffocated in sorrow.

_______________

September 27

“Nurse?”

You had your back turned to the desk, facing the center of the nurses’ station, your eyes closed shut. Strangely, the hospital lighting was giving you a headache. It seldom had that effect on you. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that you hadn’t taken a day off in a week, that you were sleep deprived. It didn’t matter.

“Nurse Y/L/N.” The person addressing you sounded more assertive. With a deep breath, you spun around to see whomever it was.

Doctor Tead.

“Hello, sir,” you spoke in a chipper tone, hiding your weariness. “Can I do something for you?”

“Perhaps. Nurse Roberts said your shift ended twenty minutes ago, but discovered you sitting here. Can you explain that?”

“Oh, well I—”

“We are not in the business of paying overtime for those who just sit taking a doze, do you understand?”

You nodded slowly.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Doctor Tead relished in the moment. “Good girl,” he cooed in condescension, patting your hand, and began strutting off.

You watched the doctor disappear behind a patient’s door, fuming at his gross, patronizing comments. He wasn’t even the head of medicine; he was not your boss and had no real power over the nursing staff. Doctor Tead was the only person in the hospital that you harbored a sincere loathing for. He was a middle aged man who would hit on every new young nurse, and if one were to turn him down, he would make it his personal business to ruin her day. Needless to say, there were many recipients of Tead’s hectoring.

You grumbled as you slid from the seat, smoothed out your uniform, and grabbed your purse. Nurse Roberts, the head nurse, approached you after seeing that you were up.

“Take a couple of days off, honey.”

She was a stern, intimidating woman, but she cared for her nurses with intense compassion. You smiled at her before she could return to her other tasks. “I will see you on Sunday.” With a wave of the hand, she was gone.

You exited through the ward’s doors and began your descent downstairs. The main lobby of the hospital was fairly empty, there was only a visiting family and a few new admittances waiting to be brought up. A nurse standing by the front desk said goodbye before you walked outside. You exchanged some quick pleasantries, then continued on your way. Coming upon the parking lot, your attention was caught by someone walking toward you. He grinned at you. It was one of the younger doctors, Arthur Carlisle.

“Hello, Y/L/N,” he stopped to greet you. “Leaving so soon? Just when I arrive?” He teased you, as he often did, but you weren’t in the mood.

“Shift’s up.” You felt bad for being curt, but getting away from there was your current priority. “Have to get home.” When you tried to sidestep past him, he stuck an arm out.

“Are you alright?”

“I am tired.” You pushed his arm down and out of your way. “Have a nice evening, Doctor Carlisle.” You started to walk again, at a faster pace than before.

“Wait, Y/N,” the doctor called after you. You tensed at the sound of your first name being used. Only other nurses would address you as such. Never doctors. You didn’t take another step, but you didn’t look back at him either. Taking that as an invitation, Carlisle came up to stand next to you. “I’ll give him hell for you,” he said, referring to Tead. You gave him a tiny smirk, then carried on to the nearby stop for the Tube. “And it’s Arthur to you!”

* * *

Rides home were the few times where you could sit back and immerse yourself in your headspace without interference. People wouldn’t bother you in your nurse’s uniform if you appeared to be sleeping–they wouldn’t dare disturb you.

You leaned against the back of your seat, resting your head on the window to your left. You placed your legs up beside you, since your row was otherwise vacant. The rattle of the train was soothing, giving enough noise to make you feel not as alone as you did, but not enough to distract or interrupt your thoughts.

You hadn’t spent time with the band over the course of the last month, only barely seeing Brian when your schedules allowed for it. Roger stopped by once or twice to get things from Brian while you were home, but that was the extent of interaction. You wanted to distance yourself, give any drama that was bubbling up a chance to simmer down. What John had said on his birthday made you question how much time and attention you were giving to the group, and the implications behind it all. You didn’t mean to give anyone the wrong idea. You didn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea. So, you decided it best to stop hanging around the studio for a while. Brian concurred a little too hastily.

Stella kept you company on most of the nights when near-isolation became too much, and Brian was busy. Sometimes her girlfriend, Odette, would join in the festivities of the evening, bringing in pastries from the bakery she ran, but mostly Stella would come alone and let you rant as much as necessary. You found it easier to get riled up on certain days, especially those on which you had interactions with Doctor Tead. More often than not, however, you would sip on the champagne Stella brought with her and speak tipsy, teary musings about love and life. She found the spectacle very amusing, being the sober onlooker.

The screech of brakes echoed through the traincar, taking you out of your head. When you came out onto the street, you noticed the sky was still speckled with rosy-hued streaks and creamy clouds. The trees lining the streets framed the sight like a painting, and you felt like a piece of the art just by witnessing it. You slowly made your way home, passing several people. Some you recognized and others you didn’t, but you flashed a tired smile at anyone who came your way. With work behind you, you wanted to move forward in the day with happiness instead of resentment. The closer you got to your building, the bigger your smile became. Noting that Brian’s car was parked in its usual place, you quickened your gait. As you came up the indoor stairwell, you fished through your purse for keys.

I really do need to clear this thing out.

Walking through the hallway, you smelled something cooking. Making it to your door, you located the source of the scent and heard music playing. The light streaming through the gap between the door and the floor was faint. You hesitantly turned the key in the lock, hoping you weren’t about to interrupt anything. Pushing the door open enough to squeeze through, you glanced around the living room.

No one was there, but there were lit candles twinkling on every surface you could see. You didn’t think you and Brian even possessed that many candles between the two of you.

You tiptoed to the kitchen, trying to remain as inaudible as possible. The countertops were absolutely spotless, and there were two unused wine glasses set out next to a fresh platter of butternut squash ravioli and a bowl of simple tossed salad. You took in a whiff of the food, making your mouth water. It was one of your favorite dishes, and the only thing you had eaten since your shift started at 5 o’clock that morning was an apple. Shaking your head to rid yourself of the temptation, you left the kitchen to see if anyone was in the flat. You knew Brian’s car was downstairs, but you couldn’t know for certain that he was alone.

Inching down to Brian’s bedroom, you could make out a gentle whimper from behind his door. It was quiet, but as you got nearer to it, the more distinct it became. You grew worried, beginning to take larger strides. Then the soft whimpering was accompanied by some panting. It struck you. You didn’t want to barge in on him if he was with a girl, so you froze just short of the doorway with a hand in the air prepared to knock, stopped out of not wanting to intrude on Brian’s privacy. You felt stuck to the floor, unable to move your feet.

To your horror, the door suddenly flew open, and you stood face to face with a sweaty Brian. Upon seeing you, his eyes widened and his expression was mortified. His face was red, possibly from embarrassment, but that was probably not the sole factor. He cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, Brian,” you spoke first, and started babbling, “I didn’t know you had company. I would’ve made myself scarce or—”

“Oh, no no no no,” he shook his hands in front of his body with great fervor. “I’m, uh, I’m alone.”

You furrowed your brow, confused by the romantic atmosphere. The candles. The wine. The fancy food.

Wow.

You didn’t know what to say.

Say something!

“You really go all out when romancing yourself, huh?”

Anything would have been better than that! Silence is better than that!

You clapped a hand over your mouth, ashamed. You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with your best friend. He towered over you, but somehow, he stood small.

“Sorry,” you whispered from behind your hand. Brian chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s alright, Y/N.”

You looked up at him, and could see his eyes screaming, but decidedly didn’t say anything about it out of gratitude for his understanding. Due to the sheer discomfort, you started laughing involuntarily, with your hand still placed over your mouth. Brian reached out a hand to put it on your shoulder, to calm you, but decided that wouldn’t be best.

You straightened up, wiping a tear of laughter from your eye. “Did you wait for me to have dinner?” He nodded, his gaze intense but sweet. You weren’t paying enough attention to see that.

“I wasn’t sure when you’d be home, exactly,” Brian played with his hair. “It should still be warm. At least, I hope so.”

“Mind if I clean myself up first?” You bit your lip, gesturing to your uniform.

“I was about to ask you the same,” he said, lighthearted. You beamed at his delicate face.

“After you,” you motioned to the bathroom door. Brian gave you a funny look, but you weren’t thinking about your words. He dipped his head and ducked into the room.

You turned to grab clean clothes from your bedroom and kick the shoes off your aching feet. Brian came out after a couple minutes.

“All yours,” he peered into your room with a smile painfully plastered across his cheeks. You gathered up your things and went to turn the water on. A scalding hot shower was all you needed to wash the day away.

* * *

Brian felt foolish as he waited for you to finish your shower. You didn’t seem to understand what he was putting out for you, running around making the flat more presentable. Or the energy he spent trying to figure out how to make ravioli from scratch, and the time it took to ask for help from one of your neighbors when he broke down over his cooking failure. Even getting hold of and lighting all the candles was a larger undertaking than he anticipated. If you couldn’t see what he was trying to tell you, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to bring it up.

You finally opened the bathroom door, steam rolling out through the hall like a thick fog. Stepping into the living room, you radiated warmth. Brian watched you approach him in your purple pajama set, hair still wet but not dripping. The flickering of the candles reflected in the satiny fabric covering your body. Brian had to force his eyes to keep them from dancing all over your figure. He gulped, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

“Should I get down some plates for us?” You started for the cupboard.

“No,” Brian reached out a hand to touch you. “You don’t need to lift a finger, go take a seat. ’Ve got it.” He smiled genuinely, urging you to relax. You appreciated the sentiment, so you went to throw yourself on the sofa.

A few moments later, Brian set down a wine glass in front of you and one in front of the worn “study chair”, where he would sit. He popped open a new bottle of moscato and poured a generous amount into each of your cups. Placing the bottle on the far end of the coffee table, he spun around and marched back into the kitchen. You heard the clanging of some dishes, setting you on edge, but when Brian reemerged with two plates of ravioli and salad, you lazed back into the softness of the couch. He settled into his customary position.

“Cheers,” he held out his glass.

“Cheers.” You smiled into your drink as you took a sip.

Brian had some trouble getting a ravioli to latch onto the prongs of his fork. It was enough to entertain you, until he gave up and started on his salad. You were not met with the same difficulty, and smugly scooped a piece of the entree into your mouth, making sure Brian was watching. He stuck out his tongue, then with a stroke of luck, managed to get one to stay long enough for him to eat.

Of course, it was all a show for you. He just wanted to make you happy. He had spoken to Stella earlier when she called for you, and she let it slip that you were having a hard time lately, between your problems at work and the sudden separation from her other friends, the boys.

“So, what’s all of this, then?” You glanced around at the candles and the cleanliness.

In that moment, Brian decided to put off any big revelations for another time. You were exhausted and needed some time to enjoy yourself, without clouds of worry. He looked down and grinned softly.

“Wanted to celebrate you,” Brian’s voice matched his expression.

You didn’t understand what he meant. You never did.

He perked up. “I mean, someone ought to. You’re one of our country’s finest healers!” His playful exclamation hit you with a wave of affection. You could tell he was trying to cheer you up, and you could feel it working.

“Well, I don’t know about that—”

“I do.”

The conversation subsided as you both took a moment to eat the food before you.

“This is delicious,” you said in between bites. “Did you get it from Sicilian Cafe?”

Brian shook his head, mouth still full of salad. “No,” he swallowed, “I actually made it from scratch.”

You were awed. “Really?” He nodded, feeling slightly guilty for not including the part where the culinary student, who lived on the floor below, helped only after having him cry to her for several minutes, but he didn’t find it to be a necessary detail. He liked your amazement, it made him feel good.

“You’re quite impressive, Mister May.”

Brian took a swig from his wine, finishing off the contents of his glass. Noticing, you picked up the bottle and handed it to him. He thanked you.

“Would you mind topping me off too? ’S been a long week.” Brian complied.

In the middle of taking a drink, something occurred to him. “Oh!” He spilled some wine on the floor. You jumped up to grab a rag to clean it up. Brian took it from you and dabbed at the spillage.

“Sorry, Y/N.”

“Don’t be. I’m just amazed you’re actually cleaning something up,” you teased. “Anyway, what were you thinking about that caused such a frenzy?”

“Well,” he started, draping the rag over the arm of his chair. “The boys and I have been working with these great guys, y’know, Mott the Hoople?” You nodded, vaguely remembering talking to Freddie about them. “And they’ve asked us to tour with them!” Your jaw dropped.

“They what? When?!”

“It was made official a couple days ago, and we’re starting in Leeds in November.”

You got up from your seat and wrapped your arms around Brian. He pulled you onto his lap so he could hold you tighter. You stroked his hair.

“Oh, Bri, I am so proud of you.” As you whispered into his ear, you could feel some tears welling up in your eyes. You pulled back for a second, to look at him. “See? I told you, you were meant to do great things.” Brian gripped onto one of your wrists and brought your hand closer to him. Before he could stop himself, he laid a tender kiss on top of your thumb. Startled, you abruptly pulled your hand away, not expecting the action. He looked upset, or guilty, and you couldn’t decide which.

Maybe he’s getting caught up in the excitement, you thought, writing it off as an intimate gesture shared between good friends in an intimate moment. You got up from where you sat, but shot Brian a reassuring smile, and began to pick up the empty plates. He sprung out of the chair.

“Oh, you don’t have to do—” he cut himself off, “I made dessert, too.”

You put the dishes back down on the table, unsure what to do.

A pause. You hesitated for a bit while debating the notion, but gave into your cravings. “What did you make?”

Brian smiled devilishly. “Red velvet.” He knew you loved the cream cheese frosting, and he was proud that he could actually make it by himself.

You sucked your bottom lip in between your teeth. “You’re too good to me, Brian May. God, what did I do to deserve you?” Brian blushed and turned to go into the kitchen.

Once you were alone, you finally recognized that music was still playing on Brian’s old record player. It was a collection of Ella Fitzgerald standards, one of your favorite albums. Your father gifted it to you for your thirteenth birthday. Wishing you had paid more attention, you could tell you missed most of the tracks. The jazz swelling through the air had a physical effect on you, you found new energy to sway and sing along.

In the kitchen, Brian brought out a lopsided cake covered in lumpy frosting. The flowers that were originally envisioned appeared to be pink globs of disappointment. He frowned, thinking it was glorious before, but now, he only felt embarrassment at the idea of presenting it to you. With a sad sigh and a small shrug, he took out a knife and cut two slices. From where he stood, Brian could hear your voice softly carrying the tune of “Dream a Little Dream of Me” and the faint pattering of your feet dancing across the creaky wooden planks. The thought of you joyfully moving to the rhythm in your skimpy sleep shorts, and your damp hair twisted up in a messy ‘do was enough to jolt him from his pitiful mood.

When he came out with the small dessert plates in hand, Brian was overcome at the sight of you. You had your eyes closed, your hips swaying to and fro, your feet occasionally making steps from one side to the other. He leaned against the wall closest to him and began to sing along with you. You noticed the shift in sound and glanced at Brian.

He started to sing Louis Armstrong’s harmony, so you joined as Ella came in. You walked up to him to take the slices of cake and put them on the coffee table. As you did, Brian came closer and you turned to take his hand in yours. He laughed a little as you grooved more playfully, smiling at your touch. You let him go to show off some disco moves in slow motion, fitting them to the tempo of the song. Brian tried to mirror your actions, but to no avail. His own movements were clumsy and looked very unnatural for him, so you reached out to him again to take him into your arms. Brian was more comfortable that way. Since it was the last song on the record, you let it play through to a full stop.

You released your friend from your grasp to adjust your top. Brian shyly moved to his chair to await your company before touching his dessert. You lounged on the sofa, dangling your clean feet over the arm nearest to him. He offered you the plate with your piece of cake on it, which you happily accepted. Grabbing your fork, you shoveled a portion into your mouth without studying the decorations. Brian felt a little relieved that you weren’t interested in observing the slice.

“This is delicious,” you said with half a bite still in the process of being consumed. Brian usually despised loud chewing noises, but he overlooked them, enjoying your delight.

“I do what I can.”

You were so grateful for this random little “celebration” he put on for you. You didn’t even question the candlelit meal for a second.

“So, how were the boys? Just as thrilled as you?”

Brian chuckled. “Roger and Fred were practically bouncing off the walls.” He intentionally didn’t mention John.

“Do you know the first date yet? I could try to request the day off.” You scrambled for another bite.

“I am not quite sure. I think it’s the fifth or sixth.”

“Well, I could come with you to the studio tomorrow to confirm. ’Ve been given a break until Sunday.”

Brian shifted his position. “We’re actually not in the studio tomorrow.”

You were disappointed, but tried to hide it. Brian could tell. He cleared his throat.

“But we are going to do some shopping, if you’d be interested.”

That perked you right up again.

“Yeah? All of you?”

“As if Freddie would let us pick out our own performance wear,” Brian scoffed. You nodded in agreement. “He says we’ve got to be more ‘glam’.”

You blew out, raising your eyebrows, and nodded again with more subtlety. “I wouldn’t say you or John have the flashiest of wardrobes.” Brian narrowed his eyes with indignation. “Now Roger…” You shrugged, indicating that you considered his fashion to be more adventurous. “But I think Freddie could only be described as ‘extravagant’, ‘glam’ is too mundane.”

Brian loosened up at the notion. “I think he would prefer that, too.”

You finished your dessert and stood up to clear the table. Brian got up to help you, taking the large dinner plates while you grabbed the wine glasses and dessert dishes. You directed him to put everything on the countertop, and turned on the water for it to warm.

“Stella could come too, if you’d like,” he tried to steer the conversation back to the outing.

You snorted, not looking up from the plate you were washing. “You know how she feels about Roger.”

“But she loves judging fashion.”

“As much as she despises him?”

“But she could judge his fashion.” Brian had a gleam in his eye, and it didn’t stem from the excitement that the promise of dish drying provided.

You stopped what you were doing to face him. “I think she’ll pass.” Brian threw his hands up to show defeat, waving the white dish rag in surrender. You returned to your task.

The sound of the faucet was the only noise for a few moments.

“How was work today, Y/N?” He changed the subject, knowing only what Stella had told him over the phone about the past week. You groaned.

“Hellish.”

“Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Not really. Doctor Tead was a total rotter, as usual.” You thought about it some more. “Doctor Carlisle called me by my name.”

Brian was perplexed by the oddity of the interaction, until he remembered the complete division between doctors and nurses. But he hadn’t heard this name before. “Who’s that?”

“He’s one of the younger members of the medical staff. Strange. Great physician.” You paused. “The children adore him. He even lets them call him Arty.”

“Was he there when Tead was around?”

“No, he’d only just arrived as I was leaving. We have wonky timing like that. One of us is always going out as the other is coming in.”

“Does he usually call you that?”

You shook your head. “First time. He even tried to get me to call him Arthur.”

“Maybe he wants to recruit you to join him at the Round Table.”

You threw the sponge into its basket after finishing your cleaning duties. “I think I’d make a great Sir Lancelot.” You puffed out your chest.

“Lady Guinevere,” Brian considered.

“Because I’m a girl?”

“I was thinking I would be Lady Guinevere. You’re the handsome knight who steals me away.”

“Ooh, I don’t know,” you tutted. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of anything between you and Doctor Carlisle.” Brian looked unamused, but he didn’t really mind. He secretly loved the silly banter.

“We better blow all the candles out before we both forget and go to bed.” You shifted the topic of conversation again.

Brian’s face grew red at the mention of it. He wanted to forget where he had planned the evening to go. Before you could even make a step in the direction of the living room, Brian darted out of the kitchen. It was the fastest you’d seen him move in a while. You followed shortly behind, but most of the flames had been put out by the time you joined him.

“Brian?” You piped up. He looked up at you. “Why so many candles?”

So close. He was so close to avoiding the subject. Thankfully, he could think well on his feet.

“Just thought you might appreciate some softer lighting after a long day in the hospital.”

“How did you know?”

“Lucky guess?”

You accepted his answer, blowing on the last of the flaming wicks, and took a seat.

“I think I should go to bed,” Brian began rushing off to his bedroom.

“It’s barely even dark outside.”

He stopped. “Today’s been longer than you could imagine.”

You were unimpressed. “Is that a challenge?” You folded your arms over your chest.

“I’m simply saying I don’t have your motivation—”

“You were able to be at home all day, lounging like some lizard on a hot rock.” Brian laughed at your odd simile. You cracked a smile too. “Please? We hardly get to just sit and enjoy time without having to be anywhere, anymore.”

“If you insist, love.” He moved to return to his designated chair, but before he could sit down, you patted down on the cushion next to you. He acted nonchalant, taking his time before joining you.

“So, when are we going out on the town tomorrow?” You tossed your legs over Brian’s lap, and leaned back to lay on one of the throw pillows you had picked out years before.

“I know Fred will want to be up and at ’em early, but the rest of us probably aren’t planning to get out of bed until at least eleven.”

You were content with that. “I can do eleven.”

“Fortunately for us, he can’t drive. So he can’t just show up unannounced.”

“Unless he gets Roger to do his bidding,” you said dryly. You couldn’t forget the time Freddie had walked in on your floury wrestling match not long ago.

“I don’t think anyone could get Rog rallied and presentable before ten,” Brian joked, the thought going over his head.

“Then let’s hope for that. Nothing before ten.”

_______________

September 28

The morning came all too quickly. However, you and Brian were ready to go before you even got a call from the others, telling you to hurry yourselves. Out of the lot of them, Brian was notorious for sleeping in. However, Freddie was the one who was consistently arriving late. Unless he was the one organizing the outing.

You were sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine while waiting for Brian to locate his trainers.

“Did you look under the mound of laundry?” You shouted out to him. You could hear a grunt of umbrage, causing you to wrinkle your nose in response. “Well?”

Brian appeared through the entry, looking triumphant with a black pair of dirty Converse hanging by their laces from his fingers.

“And where were they?” You returned your focus on the images in front of you.

Brian sighed. “Under the laundry,” he mumbled. He kneeled to lace up the shoes.

“Interesting.” You tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and set your feet on the ground. He stood at the same time. “Ready, m’lady?” You offered the crook of your arm to Brian. He scrunched his face in confusion. “Guinevere,” you elaborated. His mouth formed an O with remembrance, bobbing his head lazily.

“Did you call by Roger’s place, letting ’im know we’re on our way?”

“Yes, a couple minutes ago. Fred thought you should forget about those old things,” you sneered as you pointed to Brian’s feet, “but I told him to forget about that awful peacock hat of his, and it shut him up nicely.”

“Fred was there?”

“And John was too. I figure they spent the night.”

Brian brought his shoulders up slightly. “Convenient for us, that means we only have to make one stop.” He grabbed the keys from the counter. “Suppose we better go.”

You beat him to the door and swung it open, moving into the hall. Brian slammed it behind him, dropping his keys simultaneously. You both bent down to grab them, and again, you beat him to it. But his hand engulfed yours anyway, not fully thinking nor looking. You breathed softly, bringing your sights up to his eyes.

Hazel.

You smiled.

I always forget.

He returned the smile, his own breath hitching in his throat.

The stillness was interrupted by someone stomping up the stairs. It was the neighbor whose flat was across from yours. You never could recall his name. He looked down at the pair of you and blew air through his nose, humor crinkling around his eyes.

“How many people does it take to grab keys off the floor?”

“Two, apparently,” you sassed, still locked in your crouching position with Brian. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel that his gaze never left your face.

The humor faded and your neighbor scowled as he pushed his own door open, going inside and closing it without another look. With a sigh of satisfaction, you got up from the ground, bringing Brian with you.

“Lonely sot,” you murmured to Brian, who tossed his head back with silent laughter.

* * *

“Look who’s here,” Freddie chirped, widening the door to Roger’s flat for you and Brian to enter through. Brian spoke a quiet greeting, but Fred ignored him and wrapped himself around you. He pressed a kiss on your forehead. “How are you, darling?”

You sunk further into his grasp. “I’m alright, Fred. Missed you.”

He pulled out of the embrace to grab your shoulders, looking you square in the eye. “You can’t leave us alone again for that long, Y/N. We nearly strangled each other every chance we got.”

“Yeah, a medical professional would be helpful if one of us actually went through with it,” Roger chimed in, moving Freddie out of the way to get to you. He winked at you before pulling you into his arms. “Glad to see you.”

You giggled. “You’re all talking like I dropped off the face of the planet, or something. I was busy with work, you know that.” You pressed your palm into one of Roger’s shoulders, playing. You hadn’t said anything to him or Freddie about what they missed on John’s birthday, and highly doubted Brian or Deaky himself would bring it up. Work was your excuse, and they didn’t question it.

You swiveled your head around to find John standing alone, halfway across the room. He gave a small wave before slowly making his way over to the rest of you. “Hi, Y/N.” John looked down at his feet. You noticed he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Is he not coming?

With timidity, Deaky pecked your cheek quickly, but not quick enough for Brian to miss it.

He clenched his jaw.

“You boys ready to go?” You tore your focus from John to address the others.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been ready to give Brian a new wardrobe since the day I met him.”

Brian looked exasperated by Freddie’s remark, but you and Roger couldn’t hold back your chuckles.

“No Mary?” You asked Fred.

“She won’t be joining us. Has work to do, or some other nonsense,” he joked. You smirked.

In the brief moments of your reunion with Roger, John, and Freddie, you already felt more emotionally fulfilled. Brian saw the content on your face.

You turned back to John. “Where are your shoes?” He looked dumbfounded. You looked at Brian. “Maybe they’re under your dirty clothes, too.” He rolled his eyes, but all in good fun.

Freddie gasped dramatically. “Is it really that bad?” You gave an overexaggerated nod.

“It is not!”

“Ah, shut up, Bri.” Roger batted a hand at the taller man.

“You’ve got room to talk,” Brian said sarcastically, motioning his arms to the entirety of Roger’s flat. “At least I’m just messy and not dirty.”

“Is there even a fucking difference?”

“There is a very important distinction!”

“And what exactly would that be?”

“One involves messes and the other involves dirt!”

You and Freddie exchanged looks, amused by the childish tiff. He glanced at the clock on the table and cleared his throat.

“Dears?” Freddie spoke calmly and politely. Brian and Roger stepped back from each other and looked at him. “We should be going.” You were dazzled by his sunny behavior. The other two grumbled as they started for the door. Freddie put an arm around both of their shoulders, saying things you didn’t care to listen to.

You walked closer to John.

“Hi,” you whispered kindly.

“Hello.” He spoke with a far away look in his eyes.

“How’re you?”

Deaky looked back down to his feet. You were discouraged, seeing him appear uncomfortable even after a month of evasion.

“I’m sorry.” He wouldn’t look at you.

Your heart broke a little for him. You reached for one of the limp hands hanging to his side, keeping it firmly in your own.

“It’s alright, sunshine,” you muttered. “I know you didn’t mean it.” Those words caused him to meet your gaze. John opened his mouth to object, but didn’t say anything when he saw the compassion in your eyes.

He knew you were lying.

You knew he had told the truth.

The door closed. You both turned to see what happened. Only Freddie remained in the flat with you. He had his arms crossed and a sly look scrawled across his face.

“I managed to get TweedleDee and TweedleDum out to bring the car around.” He sighed. “They even argued about whose car we were using.”

John looked horrified.

“Don’t worry, Deaky, I didn’t hear a thing.”

Neither of you could tell if he was being sincere or not.

A lull filled the space. You weren’t sure what to do, or say.

“Who are TweedleDee and TweedleDum?”

“Love, haven’t you seen that Disney film?” You both shook your heads. Freddie grinned.

“It’s a fantastic trip.”

* * *

The ride into town was long.

You resented being squished in the back between Roger and Deaky. Brian had won the argument over who would get to drive, and Freddie insisted on riding up front next to him, claiming it was his “birthright as the oldest”. You relented, knowing you wouldn’t be able to go up against him.

John mumbled to himself, “Still think we should’ve taken the train.” You mentally agreed with him, but sat in silence.

Periodically, Roger would ask you something about the hospital, reminding you that he once was a biology student, studying to be a practitioner of dentistry. You were happy to engage in conversation, enjoying the chance to talk about it with someone you didn’t work with. Brian was a brilliant man, and understood the concepts you mentioned, but sometimes you felt as though he thought too much when you spoke to him about medicine; he would often respond with a tidbit about physics.

Brian glanced in the rear view mirror to see the back seat, and saw Roger’s arm resting on his leg, his hand cradling his chin. You talked with excitement in your voice and eyes, causing Roger to hang onto every word you said. John was staring out the window, unresponsive. Brian was so distracted by the scene behind him, he forgot about the world in front of him. Freddie tapped him on the shoulder, making him snap out of it, and pointed to the road ahead, full of traffic. Brian slammed on the brakes, causing Beatrix to lurch and let out a concerning noise. Roger, not paying attention, hit his head on the back of Freddie’s seat.

“Ow!” He rubbed his forehead. “I thought you were supposed to be a good driver, May.”

“Still better than you, Taylor,” Brian huffed.

“Oh, stop it, you two.” Freddie sounded playful, but you all could tell he was growing tired of the bickering.

“So,” you spoke up, more cheerful than your company. “Where exactly are you bringing us, Fred?”

“Excellent question, Y/N! None of these simpletons even bothered to ask.” He glared into the mirror, pointedly at Roger, then to John. “There’s this lovely little shop where my friend Minnie works. She said she could get us good deals on the merchandise.”

“That’s great!”

No one else said a thing. Brian reached for the knob to turn up the radio, but Freddie slapped his hand away.

“I was also thinking we could go for lunch, but only if I see some spirits rise.”

“Eh, if they want to mope, maybe just you and I will go.” You patted Freddie’s shoulder.

John lifted his head from the window and sat up straight, the height difference between the two of you suddenly very prominent. “I think that sounds nice.” He hadn’t said much during the drive, except the occasional sassy comment made under his breath that only you were able to hear. You smiled at his change in demeanor.

* * *

There were velvet trousers in every hue. Satin shirts with zany patterns. Jewelry of varying designs. It was sort of what you imagined Freddie’s paradise to be like.

You dragged Brian by the hand to go through some tops you thought he’d be fond of. He was never hesitant about more feminine styles. He loved lacy things. You held up a black shirt with large sleeves up against your body, trying to get him to imagine what it would look like on a body. Brian had a moment of deja vu.

--October 25, 1961--

“Which one do you like better?” Brian asked you, holding up a flowy purple dress, followed by a longer blue one, then switching back and forth between them.

In your hands, you held a delicate white frock. The fabric glistened in the sunlight from the window behind you. You watched Brian twirl the garments around for your benefit, insisting it would help you “envision the silhouette” better. You giggled when he lifted the hanger of the purple one over his head, setting it around his neck.

“Well, I think that one suits you nicely.”

“Ya think so?” He craned his neck downward to get a better look at it from his angle. “Think it works with my womanly figure?” Brian shimmied for you, letting the dress swing around in front of his gangly frame. You put the white one back on its rack and gave him a cheer, accompanied by an enthusiastic round of applause.

The other patrons of the shop glared at the two rowdy teenagers disrupting the quiet atmosphere. Neither of you cared, wrapped up in the fun you were having. Brian only stopped dancing when he noticed a young man, who appeared to be several years older than himself, smiling at him. He was with his girlfriend, at least Brian thought it was his girlfriend, who was sifting through a section of evening wear. She would hold up a glittering gown to see his reaction, and if he seemed to like it, she’d drape it over her forearm with the others he approved of. Everytime he said something kind, the young woman would gaze up at him with pure adoration. Brian hoped others thought you looked at him like that.

“I just don’t know if I could pull it off.”

Brian came out of his trance to focus on you. He hung the blue dress back where he found it. “What do you mean?”

You bit your cheek.

“It’s certainly beautiful, but I don’t think it would look as nice on me as is does on the hanger.” You lowered your eyes, feeling vulnerable.

Being in a place full of gorgeous women with attire to match made you feel self-conscious. You thought that puberty hadn’t been kind to you, you felt like a stranger in your own skin. In fact, you only worked up the nerve to go in when Brian said he would try on dresses with you.

For once, Brian felt like he wasn’t the frightened one.

“Oh, don’t be so fucking ridiculous.”

Your mouth was agape, you were shocked by the words that escaped his lips. He scrambled to find the words he meant to say, realizing that wasn’t a great start.

“A hanger’s only an object. Nothing can look beautiful on a hanger.” He shifted his weight into his right hip. “At least, not in comparison to the beauty it can reflect when it’s on someone.” He coughed, then lowered his voice. “On you.”

At this point, Brian knew he felt something for you. A little more than friendship. Or a lot more. He came to terms with the emotions some months ago, but he had hoped it would have subsided by now.

A schoolboy crush on his best friend shouldn’t last longer than a few months, right?

Teary eyed, you reached up your arms to loop them around the nape of his neck. Brian ducked down a bit for you to get a better hold, letting you pull him closer to you.

“I love you, Bri,” you whispered.

He melted where he stood. Could it be?

“You’re the best friend I could ever imagine.”

Oh.

“God, what did I do to deserve you?”

The words rang through his ears.

“You came into my life,” Brian whispered back. “That’s all.”

--1973--

“And I think this would go nicely with that pair of velvets you own.” You could see that Brian was in a daze. “Well?”

He blinked slowly, bringing his drooping eyelids up halfway to look at you. “Hmm?”

“What do you think?”

He was brought back into the present.

“Oh, I think it’s great.” He wasn’t even sure what “it” was.

You beamed. “Good! Now, Roger’s trying some stuff on. You should go join him in the back.” You unloaded the items from your arms and transferred them to Brian. Then you pointed his shoulders in the right direction.

Brian marched to the fitting rooms, finding a half naked Roger flexing in a mirror. Brian stopped in his tracks, but Roger was unfazed.

“Whaddya think?” He posed, showing off the obnoxious pants he was wearing, paired with nothing but a fringed vest.

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Did Fred pick that out for you?”

“No,” Roger continued staring at his reflection. “This is all me.”

“Ah. Makes sense.” Brian scoffed as he pushed past the blond and drew the curtain to the dressing area. Roger came in behind him, not caring that it was meant to be a personal space.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Well, for starters, you’re in my fitting room.” Brian frowned.

“Oh, don’t start that with me.” Roger pointed a finger at Brian. “You’ve been moody all day.”

Brian snorted at the remark. “I could say the same about you!”

Roger stared at his friend with dispassion. Then something dawned on him. “Brian?”

The guitarist fell silent.

“Did you and Y/N get in a fight or somethin’?”

“No. We didn’t fight.”

Roger had a thought, but dismissed it with laughter. Brian’s scowl hardened, making Roger feel required to say it aloud. “Sorry, mate, I was just thinkin’ you were too angry to have fucked.” Brian’s nose twitched. Roger stopped laughing. “Did you and Y/N fuck?” His voice was at a much lower pitch.

“No,” Brian growled through gritted teeth. “It’s not like that between us. You know that.”

Roger had a gleam in his eye. “But do you want it to be?” Brian’s expression softened, giving him all the confirmation he needed.

“Not exactly.” Brian confided, shifting uncomfortably in the small stall made for one person.

“Then what exactly?”

Brian’s heart was pounding. In twelve years, he had only told one person what he was about to tell Roger.

* * *

Roger stood silent for a moment, taking in what he just heard.

“Twelve years?”

Brian blushed, bashful from the level of vulnerability he had reached with his bandmate.

“Twelve bloody years? Why haven’t you ever made a move?”

“I never seemed right. We were too young. Then she was with somebody. Then she moved away for five years. When would I have done anything?”

Roger was frustrated by his friend’s stupidity. “You’ve wasted a monumental about of time failing to do anything.”

Brian sighed. “I’ve never had the courage. And then I find out you’ve kissed her. Doesn’t she mean something to you, too?” He didn’t even want to think about John.

“Of course Y/N does. She means a great deal to me, but not like that. It was one moment. You’ve had a lifetime of moments.” Roger paused. “You love her, yeah?”

“Irretrievably.”

“Then do something about it.”

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woolishlygrim · 4 years

Text

Winter Weebwatch #3

I feel a little bad for giving out so many two and three star scores, so I should probably clarify that three stars is meant to be ‘generally pretty good’ and two stars is meant to be ‘watchable but very flawed.’ We’re not working on IGN metrics here.

Also, this week is the week I finally drop a show! What could it be, what could it -- it’s Plunderer. Of course it’s Plunderer. I couldn’t get all the way through this week’s episode and life’s too short to bother watching any more of it.

Also also, while In/Spectre hasn’t been dropped, it gets subbed so late that I’m skipping it this week and rolling this week’s episode over to next week’s post.

ID: Invaded.

★★★★☆

God, why was this show relegated to the Death Season, Where Anime Goes To Die? For three weeks running now, ID: Invaded has stood head and shoulders over all of its competitors, and while there’s always the possibility it could collapse in under its own weight, it so far seems to be going pretty strong.

So episode four (again, see remarks about how one and two aired in the same week) sees Sakaido and the team in a race against the clock to catch the Gravedigger, a serial killer who traps people into enclosed spaces with just a few oxygen canisters and livestreams their struggles, showing the world their final moments and even continuing the livestreams to show their bodies decaying. The Gravedigger has kidnapped a new victim, and for the first time left enough cognition particles behind for Sakaido to dive into his mental world.

Whereas previous episodes have focused heavily on the mystery angle, this episode largely focuses on the stress the case puts on Sakaido and the team. The Gravedigger’s world is a uniquely dangerous mess of fire, explosions, and shifting architecture, and Sakaido dies again and again as he struggles to find any evidence of the Gravedigger’s identity.

Much like the last episode, this would sit at a solid three stars, being a fairly engaging and somewhat harrowing story of Sakaido and the team putting themselves under immense stress to save a victim. What boosts it up to four stars is the moment where the writers pull the rug out from under the characters and the audience: The Gravedigger they’re hunting is only a copycat of the real Gravedigger, and his victim has been dead for days, the ‘livestream’ actually a recording.

The episode also hints at a bigger role for the Perforator in future, as the team attempts to use him as a back-up detective, Akaido, only to find out he’s ill-suited for the role.

Pet.

★★★☆☆

Pet was so close to a four star rating this week. So close.

So, this week’s episode continues an unclear amount of time after the last week’s episode, with Hiroki and Tsubasa having bought a fish store (as in a pet store that sells live fish and naught else, not a fishmonger’s), which Hiroki believes means they can stop doing work for the shady Committee -- only for Tsubasa to inform him that the Committee paid for the store in the first place, but not to worry, he’ll do all their jobs, and Hiroki doesn’t have to do any of them.

So this episode is … moderately upsetting, actually. Intentionally so.

The bulk of the storyline, in which Tsubasa alters a bodyguard’s memory so that he’s compelled to murder one of his boss’ friends, isn’t what’s upsetting about it, although it does deal with some sensitive subjects, namely domestic abuse and the objectification of vulnerable people. No, what’s upsetting is that, like with last week’s story about Hiroki and Tsubasa altering the memories of a couple, this one also harks back to Hiroki and Tsubasa’s relationship -- specifically, that Tsubasa is emotionally abusing Hiroki.

We get hints of this early on, when Tsubasa is deliberately vague about whether he’ll psychically synchronise with Satoru, another character who, at least in Hiroki’s mind (although evidently not in Satoru’s), is something of a romantic rival. As the episode wears on, Tsubasa goes about his work, while Hiroki, left alone at the fish store, begins showing his immaturity by acting out with his powers before eventually becoming sullen and unresponsive. All of that wouldn’t be enough to indict Tsubasa as being abusive, except in the final scene, as Katsuragi snidely remarks that their new store will never be successful and Hiroki will have to return to a life of crime, Tsubasa mildly returns that he knows it won’t be successful, and he knows it will hurt Hiroki, but that’s just part of ‘taking care of a pet.’

Aaaand we get our title, with all of the unpleasant implications of how Tsubasa views the much more immature and emotionally vulnerable Hiroki.

This episode would have scraped a four star score, but the early parts of the story are a bit too fast paced and a bit incoherent. That really was the only thing holding this absolute gutpunch of an episode back.

Bonus points to the episode that the thing that prompts Hiroki to act out with his powers is seeing a woman’s domineering and callous boyfriend, implying that he is at least somewhat aware of what Tsubasa is like.

Honestly, when this show started I was not expecting a meditation on the subject of abusive relationships, but here we are, and I’m down for it.

Darwin’s Game.

★☆☆☆☆

Oh my god, I just watched it. I just watched it, guys, and I don’t remember even the tiniest bit of it. Am I crazy? Is this what crazy feels like? It’s like I’m blotting the show out of my memory.

I remember something to do with plants and that’s … that’s actually the only thing I remember about this episode.

I don’t even think Darwin’s Game is bad (although let’s be honest, how would I know), it’s just not really anything. It has somehow hit that sweet spot between good and bad where it just fails to make any kind of impact at all, and my brain just interprets it as background noise and proceeds to flush all data pertaining to it.

I might drop it just because this has got to be getting boring for anyone reading these reviews by now. Watching this show is like a sneak peek of suffering from dementia.

And yet, I still know for a fact it’s better than Plunderer, so it gets one star.

Plunderer.

☆☆☆☆☆ (DROPPED)

Aaand I’m out.

Look, after the shitshow that was the first episode, I should have dropped it straight away. I gave it a chance, and the second episode convinced me that, hey, maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible, maybe the first episode was just an outlier.

The first episode was not an outlier. Episode three isn’t entirely sexual assault and sexual harassment, but about twelve minutes in it does segue into an extended sequence of exactly those things, getting worse with each passing minute. I got up to fourteen minutes, the point at which a supporting character was cheering on the protagonist to sexually assault someone, before I just couldn’t stomach watching anymore.

This show could be the most interesting, engaging, thought-provoking thing on television, and the constant sexual assault would still make me drop it. Luckily, even if you take out all the sex crimes, all you’d get is a show that was basically okay at best.

So zero stars for Plunderer, and I’m dropping the show. To be perfectly honest, I should have dropped it after episode one.

Sorcerous Stabber Orphen.

★★★☆☆

Onto more pleasant news, man, I just don’t know what’s up with Sorcerous Stabber Orphen’s pacing. Having proceeded at a truly glacial pace for the first two episodes, this episode caps off the entire current story arc, bringing it to an abrupt close.

Now in the company of his old mentor Childman and a task force of sorcerers, Orphen tracks down the dragon-ified Azalie, attempting to reason with her, only for Childman to stab him and eviscerate Azalie. In the aftermath, however, Orphen realises that he’s been played: The dragon he thought was Azalie was actually Childman, and the person he’s been thinking of as Childman is actually Azalie.

So, that was a weird twist. It’s not, in fact, completely out of the left field. The episode sets up early on that Azalie was skilled not only in elemental Black Sorcery, but also in telepathic White Sorcery, and that she should have access to those spells even as a dragon, something which is cause for concern because nobody in the task force has White Sorcery, including Childman. Later on, the confrontation with Dragon-Azalie (Drazalie, if you will), has a character call attention to how she hasn’t used any White Sorcery since the battle started. So when it’s eventually revealed that Azalie did, in fact, use White Sorcery, secretly swapping her mind with Childman’s and letting him die in her place, it actually fits together in quite a neat fashion.

The episode ends without any real hint as to where the story is going to go next: Azalie escapes in Childman’s body, and Orphen is still an exile from the Tower of Fangs, and there aren’t any other pressing story threads, so I guess we’ll see.

Infinite Dendrogram.

★★☆☆☆

This is the second week in a row that I’m giving Infinite Dendrogram two stars, and it actually physically pains me to do so, because I really like this series. I think apart from ID: Invaded, it’s my favourite anime this season, by quite a significant margin.

But nothing at all happens in this episode.

Okay, that’s only half true. The episode opens with the Player-Killers roaming around Altar having all been killed, which journalist (that’s literally her character class, which I kind of love as a concept) Marie Adler says was the work of just the four ranked players. One by one, she shows the main cast a video of each one taking out a clan of Player-Killers in their own unique way: Arena gladiator Figaro takes his targets out one by one, sadistically toying with them before striking the killing blow; cult priestess Tsukuyo uses magic to immobilise her targets, before letting her cult skewer them one by one; martial artist Lei Lei takes them out in a surprisingly friendly and sporting fashion; and the King of Destruction, whose identity is unknown and definitely not Ray’s big brother, definitely, absolutely, just levels the entire forest his targets are hiding in.

I … do see the necessity of introducing them. The Superiors are basically this show’s Gotei 13, or Gold Saints, or Hashira, or <Insert Group Of Loosely Allied Big Tough People That Are In Every Post-Saint Seiya Shounen Anime> here. There are, however, more interesting ways this could have been done than having the characters watching four videos of fights they already know the outcome to.

For example, what if, instead, you had an episode setting up the characters all getting trapped in different areas, pursued by higher level Player Killers, only for them each to be saved by a Superior. That would actually have some tension and dramatic stakes, and it’d be a much more dynamic way of introducing them.

#plunderer #id invaded #infinite dendrogram #sorcerous stabber orphen #darwins game #winter weebwatch

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fanficrexs · 5 years

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Qian Kun, our lord and savior

Okay,,, listen,,, Kun deserves better, SM bring him out of the dungeon. I’m patiently waiting for NCT China’s debut,,,,

It’s hard finding Kun fanfics, so here’s a list of some good ones! I hope you like them too. Kun is an angel, change my mind.

Piano forte by lunalius on ao3

Summary: Johnny and his friends are going to do all it takes for Jaehyun to build his courage and ask Sicheng out. And while doing that Johnny might discover someone who inspires him to pick himself up.

So, we’ve got a side dish of good ol’ JaeWin, but JohnKun is the main ship, I swear! It’s super cute, though the summary kinda made me skeptical, I thought it was really cute! There’s a minuscule amount of angst, but its backstory “when I was a young boy this crap happened” kind of angst. It’s adorable, though.

A October Breeze by Cherubpathy on ao3

Summary: Every one thinks Johnny is a bad boy, but Kun discovers that he's more than the rumours people say about him.

The title has a spelling mistake, I know, it’s how the author put it in, the story is amazing, though, I promise! It’s a really good one with a mostly realistic relationship development. There’s some angst, but no relationship angst. I thought it was really, really cute, and also Kun’s there, so that’s a box checked already :,,)

and you’re a tease by sunnyjeno on ao3

Summary: Kun is stressed about the coronation. Dongyoung is having none of it.

So this is a, as you can see, Kun and Doyoung pairing, but honestly, you could take their relationship either way. Also, there’s bits of Chenle and Johnny (not in a relationship, it’s okay) and they’re hilarious.

Sweet Talk by VeeTheSheep on ao3

Summary: Fridays were "gush about Kun in english" date nights. or so they thought.

This is poly JohnTenKun, so if you’re not into that, this won’t be you’re thing. It’s a super cute, semi-short one shot that’s just complete fluff with a bit of Kun teasing JohnTen at the end. It’s really cute, honestly.

I’ll call her Mina by tennisuhs on ao3

Summary: Kun is working on his thesis and Taeyong is on his way to become a very important chef. At the doors of proper adulthood, with questions no one prepared them for and situations that weren't on the books, the couple just go through life like two fish in a pond.

Or where Taeyong makes food for everyone since it's mid-terms season, and Kun loves his boyfriend to bits.

Even though the title mentions a Mina, there’s no Mina in the story? Unless I’m forgetting something. But it’s a really good, cute one. Just TaeKun being domestic and adorable, and Taeyong making a ton of food. It’s really good, go give it a try!

Warm by criesmom on ao3

Summary: Johnny didn't expect to meet the love of his life in Ten's bathroom

This one is hilarious? Or the part where they meet in the bathroom is. It’s really short, not much too it, but it’s cute and fluffy with no angst.

a piece of (gluten free) cake by umiwomitai on ao3

Summary: Kun is the nicest neighbour Johnny and Yoonoh have ever had. He never complains about the noise, isn't noisy himself, and most of all, always gives them leftovers of whatever food he makes. Really, how could someone not fall for him?

This is exactly what Johnny wonders as he bites into a slice of (gluten free) chocolate pie, totally not falling for his Chinese neighbour.

This is an amazing one. Like, 10/10 love it, go be a confident gay Kun, I love this one a lot. It’s one of my favorites. I can’t really explain why, but you’ll like it too! hopefully... It’s, I’m pretty sure, angst free.

hannah montana by sunnyjeno on ao3

Summary: Kun and Doyoung used to be friends during their awkward preteen years. Everything changed when they entered high school, but the feelings they shared for each other just grew. Will they finally get it together in time for their last homecoming ball?

Another Doyoung Kun from sunnyjeno! It’s a cute one, but it’s open ended, so they don’t get together (though it’s implied they do) but it’s overall really cute.

Cardiac Arrest by lunalius on ao3

Summary: Kun is concerned about the regular that shows up at least five times a day to order a double strength large long black. Or he's attracted to him. Or both.

Oh boy, do I have a lot to say about this. I’ll start this speech off by saying that whoever lunalius is, they’re amazing and I would die for them. I’ll continue it by saying this is an emotional rollercoaster. It’s Angst with a Happy Ending in a nutshell with that perfect bit of humor. It’s beautiful, it should be printed and sold and I would buy it and read it every day, that’s how much I love it. It’s a lengthier one, almost 15,000 words (which isn’t the longest I’ve read, but it’s still lengthy for a one-shot). I should mention that it’s a JohnKun story, too. It’s beautiful. Like, 100/10 good. I really, really liked it.

my answer is you by gabilliam (vvhymack) on ao3

Summary: kuntober week i ; prompt ; I went to water my plants on the balcony and you’re on yours with a tinfoil hat, what the hell are you doing?

My God, here come all of the lengendary fanfictions. Two favorites in a row. This one is funny, with only a little bit of pining angst in it. It’s hilarious and also includes a gat, which is always amazing. It’s a rarer pair, JaeKun, but I enjoyed it, and, it’s honestly just amazing. It’s super cute.

wedding bells by _helios (neocitz) on ao3

Summary: Lucas gets roped into helping his boyfriends plan their wedding.

(He, unfortunately, never caught onto the fact that they proposed to him.)

It’s poly Jungwoo-Lucas-Kun, but anyway... So... Angst. Capital ‘A’ Angst. It’s mostly sad, but that’s what makes the ending so much happier. I don’t want to give it away so I won’t say anymore, but just be prepared for angst.

Brass by 11dishwashers on ao3

Summary: Kun has a hard time dealing with his new boss Sicheng, who's a literal model.

Winwin is a model and beautiful, Kun works for him and is also beautiful, the rest of the ‘96 liners show up, it’s beautiful. Also a bonus, pretty minimal angst.

Happenstance by lunalius on ao3

Summary: Johnny, single father of one, gets another parent to look after Donghyuck in the playground while he has to rush home on a work errand. And Donghyuck makes a new friend.

Guess whose back.... back again... lunalius is back.... tell your friends.... This one has minimal-ish angst. I say -ish because its between minimal and medium angst, so. Forewarning. It’s very cute, Kun’s son is Chenle, and it’s beautiful. There’s not much I can say without giving everything away, but it’s also a good one.

serendipity by cameldreams on ao3

Summary: johnny can't sleep

That’s it. That’s the fanfic. Johnny can’t sleep. Kun’s precious, what’s new.

it beats for you so listen close by heartsighed on ao3

Summary: In which Johnny moonlights as Y, one half of the mysterious duo that runs the most popular radio program on campus, and Kun moonlights as Twitter user zhoujielunshusband96, dedicated Jay Chou fanboy.

Medium angst. That’s all there is to this. Medium angst. It’s really good and cute, would definately reccomend (though ig that’s what I’ve been doing this whole time).

kun’s flirting 101 by timelessidyll on ao3

Summary: Sicheng, naturally, was a more introverted person. Part of that was because of his intense hatred of cute and silly things, and the other part was that he hated almost 90% of the people he met. He made sure to consistently remind Chittaphon and Kun that he, at most, tolerated them. The thing about Sicheng was that everything needed to align perfectly for him to really enjoy something. He had to have a good mood, be around Kun or Chittaphon, and be doing something not silly. That led to to the question: What was Kun trying to accomplish?

Length summary, lol. It’s a really cute, fairly short one full of terrible puns (that gives a little too much away, though). No angst, just Sicheng being tsundere.

maybe I could hold you? by edgeplay on ao3

Summary: Yuta's always had bright ideas, this one takes the whole cake though.

Okay, listen. I ship YuWin pretty hard, but this got me into YuKun. Yuta and Kun? Not a pairing I’ve ever imagined, but god damn this is so good! It starts as your typical ‘fake dating’ story troupe, but I like the way it ends so much. I’m literally in love with this! Read it. Do it.

cut through the clouds by heartsighed on ao3

Summary: Qian Kun, microbiology major, vice-president of the ISA, part-time poster model and full-time mom friend, is perhaps more stressed than he would like everyone to think.

heartsighed on a roll man! This is a DoTenKun poly ship story, don’t like, don’t read. It’s very good, with a lower case ‘a’ angst. There’s a good amount of angst, but it’s not capital ‘A’ angst. So, I hope you understood that.

What the Spring? by haknyeonsmrjoo on ao3

Summary: Winwin keeps a photo of Kun on his phone, and the next thing he knows, Kun has Winwin's phone in his hand.

This was actually one of my first NCT fanfics ever! I thought it was the cutest on Earth. I’m a bit biased though, and you’re only gonna hear me say this once, but I’m Chinese and I’m mostly biased toward Chinese kpop stars because, hey! How do I watch Chinese idols from America? Answer, I don’t. It’s easier to access kpop... :,,,) This a short oneshot, very cute and fluffy

That’s it! hope you enjoyed it, and stan our king Qian Kun!

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fal-carrington · 6 years

Text

Pairing: KamilahxMc

Disclaimer: The Characters belongs to PB

Prompt: >>Back to you sequel << Ending her relationship with Scott was easy, standing up before her authoritarian and manipulating father was also easy. In this new chapter of her life Hayley must learn that marrying Kamilah also meant marrying Ahmanet Financial and with that comes with all the attention and pursuit of the media as a new sociliate married to one of America's most powerful women. When one day a pipe causes a flood in her old apartment, her former housemate and best friend needs a place to stay. Lily ends up moving to Kamilah's penthouse, suddenly privacy becomes something precious and rare, clothes and food pop up around the house and one of Kamilah's precious furniture appears accidentally broken. Now Hayley has to deal with this new challenge of having her best friend in the same house with her wife and dealing with the new life of being the new sociliate of New York.

Airport New York, 20:30 pm

"Welcome back Mrs Sayeed. How was the journey?" Those were the first words of Bryan, the driver of Kamilah who in those first minutes as soon as the private jet had landed, had proved its efficiency in unloading my bags and Kamilah’s, that awaited to us from the outside of the jet.

I threw the strap of my transverse pouch over my shoulder, quickly checking up my cell phone battery as I followed Kamilah out of the jet.

"Very satisfactory." Kamilah replied by walking past him, her black jacket fluttering in the wind. Satisfactory, that was her response when it came to our honeymoon. Kamilah had gotten two weeks off from the office for our honeymoon in Italy. It was the most she'd gotten, but according to her, she could not stay out any more than that, since the company depended on her. I was sure there was more to it, she missed working, I had been married to a workaholic. By marrying Kamilah, I had married not only her, but Ahmanet Financial as well. Anyway, I was glad I got her out of the office for a few days. It was incredibly cold out here. I was sure it had rained, I could still see the splash of water on the tarmac at the airport. It should have been around ten degrees, lucky that I was prepared with my sweatshirt. I held Blue tightly in my arms, the last thing I wanted was to drop him. The thing is, when we got married, one of my London friends gave us a wedding present, a Golden Retriever puppy. Kamilah hated the idea of having a dog at home, I guess I'll never be able to forget the horrified expression on her face when she saw the present, but I had loved. Now I would not feel so alone when I was at home and not at the hospital.

"Miss Hayley, it's good to see you again." Bryan smiled at me, I took off my headphones and smiled at him. After several attempts calling me Miss O'Connell and with me insisting that he could call me by my name, he had finally become accustomed.

“It's good to see you too.” I hugged him with one free hand. It must have been quite strange for Kamilah's employees to see her boss always dressed formally in clothes that looked like they had come out of a fashion show and her wife dressed like a teenager in a sweatshirt, shabby jeans and all stars. I watched from the corner of my eye as Kamilah's assistant, Karen running up to her with her tablet in hand, she followed Kamilah to the limousine talking to her. I rolled my eyes, yeah my honeymoon is officially over. Kamilah had stayed on the cell phone for most of the flight, honestly I had my suspicions that she had worked in secret during our honeymoon. Old habits die hard.

I followed her to the limousine, Kamilah was already waiting for me inside with Karen. Both were so busy talking about a contract that they did not even pay attention when I entered. Blue laid his head on the bench beside me.

I put my headphones back on and played my Spotify playlist, leaning my head on the bench, thinking that on Monday I would have to go back to the hospital to reward the days I was away. I focused on the beat of the song, looked up and saw both of them. Kamilah with her legs crossed and her eyes on a lot of papers that were in her hands, Karen pointed closely at them as if to inform her of the importance of each. I let out a small smile, everything had returned to normal. The only thing different was that golden ring on Kamilah's finger. Officially married, those were magic words that I would never forget and for me would never lose grace. We did not get traffic, the rest of the trip for home was with Kamilah and Karen arguing about work while I looked out the window.

I let out a relieved sigh when I saw our building. finally at home.

Two weeks later

I unlocked the door to the house, it had been days in a row that I had been at the hospital working. Finally I was at home. All I wanted was a shower, to lie on my bed and watch Netflix until I fell asleep. I threw the keys on the table and noticed that the lights were on, Kamilah was at home. I took off my shoes and left the bag in the armchair. It had been two full weeks of meetings, events, and interviews. Not to mention the shit of the paparazzis who followed us in every corner. Being married to Kamilah was almost the same as being married to a president with the attention I was receiving. As I walked around the house, Blue came up to greet me, I stroked his fuzzy head with a smile. I heard the voices of Kamilah and Karen in the suite.

"Set the meeting for Saturday night," Kamilah said quietly.

"Saturday you already have three interviews and Forbes asked to do a photoshoot as well." I heard Karen's voice. "And Hayley has to come to dinner on Friday."

"Where's Hayley going?" I asked putting my head into the room. They both looked at me. Kamilah was in the center of the room as a stylist stuffed her with pins as she fashioned a new suit for her. Karen paced back and forth with a stack of papers and her tablet.

"Oh, you're home. Great.” Kamilah smirked. "We’re leaving now," she informed me.

"What? Oh really? But I just got here.” I sat down on the couch in front of her.

“I know, but this dinner is going to be fast.”

"You could have warned me."

"I warned you on the weekend. Before I forget, you have an interview with the People staff, they called incessantly wanting to talk to you."

"What? But what should I say?” I looked at them, not knowing what to do.

"Oh, the same routine," Karen answered as she approached me and sat next to me. "They saw Kamilah as one of the most coveted singles in America and you were the only one who got her to the altar, they will ask you simple things like the plans you have, about your work, your time in London..." She explained patiently.

“I’m sure that Hayley is more than capable dealing with this.” Kamilah said. “Oh, and Karen, tell Addams that incompetent to send the report now. I do not want any more excuses, I need this for today.” I heard her voice and Karen left so hurriedly it seemed Kamilah had beaten her.

I put my hand over my face and looked at Kamilah over my glasses with that look of boredom she knew perfectly.

"You'll do well, Habibti," she said.

Manhattan streets 21h04pm

“And oh, god. Look at this machine!” Lily said excitedly looking all around, settling into the seat of my car. "Kamilah let you borrow? What an idiocy to say, of course she did! I can not believe we're riding a Range Rover!” She said happy and I could not help, but laughing.

"Uh, actually... Kamilah gave it to me," I said awkwardly, assuming the truth. "Wedding gift ... Something like that." I shrugged.

"What ?! Girl you're so lucky!” She said.

"Yeah. She even added when she gave me it was a car safe enough that I would not commit any stupidity," I said and Lily laughed.

“Tell me everything about your honeymoon! How was it? Italy is that good as they said? Did Kamilah make it worthy?” Lily asked and I laughed.

"Italy is great, the weather was great. Everything over there is beautiful, the food is wonderful.” I counted and nodded. "And yes, Kamilah made it worth every second of every night." I said, remembering all our moments in Italy.

The Mercedes AMG GT Roadster accelerated rapidly down the road at an absurd speed, my hair flying in the wind, the last rays of sun bending down the hill, notifying the evening. The sky was a beautiful orange color making it all more perfect. It's the perfect time for Kamilah and I to take a drive. I glanced sideways as the trees on the hills were left behind as the car flew down the road.

"Oh my god, Kamilah!” I screamed, letting my words drift away. Kamilah laughed, looking at her was like looking at the sky, the most perfect thing I had ever seen. She was smiling, with that perfect smile on her lips, her bright brown eyes, she was happy. She wore a blue beautiful dress and heels. It was so different to see her like that, unrestrained, loose and smiling. I think I finally managed to take some of the weight off the shoulders of the CEO. I had made the perfect choice to marry her.

"Our honeymoon was so perfect it's hard to realize we've got to get back to reality."

"A honeymoon with Kamilah, really sounds like paradise." Lily laughed in response.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Bitch, let's go to the mall!" She said excitedly.

Central Park 6h45am

It was supposed to be around six in the morning, when I woke up. I always woke up early to run. My shift only started at eight-thirty, which gave me the opportunity to run and go to the gym. I took Blue with me, so at six-forty-five I was in Central Park running with my dog, wearing a black top and tectel shorts with hair stuck in a ponytail.

I had stopped for a moment to take a breath while Blue was sniffing the grass next to me.

"Hayley look here!" I heard a male voice and looked up to see a man with a camera a few feet from me. Then I noticed that there was not only one, but several of them all in the park taking pictures of me. I rolled my eyes, it happened all month. Everywhere I went they went behind it was impressive. Last week Kamilah and I went out to dinner at a Japanese restaurant in the center of town and they were there. Even when I went to the market, they went behind, they looked like ants.

I sighed and kept walking, trying to ignore the eminent attention and flashes on my face.

"What's it like being married to one of New York's most famous and powerful women?" One of them shouted.

"Where's Kamilah?" Another shrieked as I passed them next.

“She is working and taking care of her own life. You guys should try.” I countered in response. Hearing a few giggles. Kamilah was not joking when she said they could be annoying. Now that I was married to her, I was getting more attention than I used to.

"Tell us what it's like to be married to a billionaire! Are you enjoying it?" I heard one shout before another shouted "Are you happy with all the attention you're getting from the media?"

"Not really." I answered back with another giggle in response. They had already spoiled what was to be a happy race with my dog, I kept walking quickly until I got to my car.

Met Gala Ball 19:30 pm.

It was part of my wife's duty to accompany her at least of almost every event. And as a wife's duty I had to familiarize myself with companies that partnered with Ahmanet Financial and potential investors. Kamilah discussed business the whole evening while middle-aged men’s who drank expensive whiskey and discussed possible worthy investments.

The first subject the reporters approached was our marriage, obvious. I was not surprised. The flashes hit our faces as several incredibly well-dressed people passed us. Kamilah was absolutely gorgeous in a long black dress that accentuated her body perfectly sized by Alexander McQueen. Her shiny brown hair was loose and she was beautifully made up with a necklace of blue jewels and bracelets around her wrists. She looked like a goddess. I, on the other hand, wore a red dress with full sleeves that gave contrast to her black dress. Detailedly made of lace rich in detail that accentuated my waist perfectly. Kamilah answered questions about her company calmly and occasionally laughing gracefully. They asked me questions about Kamilah, about my work as cardiologist, our plans and whether If I was happy.

"I’m just an ordinary girl who met someone the opposite of that," I said and they laughed. When the questions were over, Kamilah and I went hand in hand. "They are not joking around."

"I told you," Kamilah said looking around for the bar and finding Adrian. "You're a socialite now you should get used to it." I laughed.

"I'm not a socialite, my mother is."

"I'm sorry to inform you, but the moment you said ‘I do’ you agreed to be one." Kamilah said with a smile.

The dinner was great also, the event was great. But the best thing was about to happen now. I ran barefoot through the hall of the house without looking back, Kamilah pressed me against the wall before I could think of anything else.

"You're not going anywhere," she whispered into my ear before biting the earlobe to stimulate a hoarse, low moan of mine. Feel her skin in contact with mine was the best feeling of all, I inhaled her scent as she distributed kisses by the length of my neck, pulled her mouth to mine and kissed her fiercely. Kamilah bit my lower lip, letting out some blood, before invading my mouth with her tongue. I jumped into her lap, tightening my legs around her waist, fingers curled into her hair as I kissed her with passion. Kamilah tried to take off my dress blindly, I tried to get rid of her dress too, but it became even more difficult when you're feeling like a teenager, ready to have sex for the first time with your crush and the your hormones are driving you crazy for her. Kamilah carried me easily into the bedroom, we stumbled at the door in the middle of the way where I had managed to take my dress off successfully, before Kamilah lay on the bed getting over me. I tightened my legs around her hip glueing my body with hers. Needing to feel that contact of our skins together. As she took it off her heels, she quickly did the same with her dress. When we were just in underwear kissing passionately I called her:

"Kamilah?” I called her by feeling her lips on my neck, kissing him hard.

"Mm?" She replied, her mouth in mine now.

"I'm so happy," I said breathlessly between kisses.

"You're just horny," she replied.

"Both." I said with a smile between the kiss.

Mount Sinai Hospital 17:30 pm

"Did you see that trachea? No wonder the heart was in that state for a few more months and she would not be able to handle such surgery,” I said as I walked down the hallway with Richard, my pediatrician colleague. We were able to save a child today, I was happy to have saved a life from a child who was almost dying.

"At least we know she's going to live. It was a good job today, we should celebrate in the cafeteria with coffee." He said and I laughed.

"A coffee sounds perfect now. Go there and wait for me, I still need to get the medical records for the nurse,” I said as we continued on to different corridors.

"Dr. O'Connell, I just wanted to say that it was an honor to take part in that surgery with you. It was incredible!” My intern followed me with his notes, today I had let him watch the surgery.

I took off my gloves and threw them in a trash in the right hall. I stopped and looked at him.

"I think it's time to tell Emily's parents that she's going to go to her room in a few minutes. If you want go and tell them and please get the files to Nancy." I handed it to him and he nodded.

“Don’t forget you have another surgery in a few minutes. I was thinking if...” He start fumbling with the words, I already knew where he was going with this.

“If I let you to watch again?” I asked.

“Y-Yeah. Of course with your permission.”

“Sure. Why not? Meet me there in a few minutes.”

“Thank you!” He smiled.

Kamilah’s pov penthouse 7h01am

Hayley had spent the last 36 hours at the hospital working. I knew she was just awake because of caffeine, having dinner and lunch in the hospital cafeteria. I received messages from her saying that she would have to extend her shift because she had new patients and could not stop paying attention to them, check them every hour. I kept wondering if she was coming home soon, but I knew she had to make up for the days we spent away, just like I was doing. But despite not being in New York, I managed to work even from a distance so there were not many things that I was outdated about. In fact, there were none. Only questions from the council that Adrian had brought me up as soon as I arrived. Nothing important.

I was sitting at the table having breakfast that our maid Maria had made. Hayley's dog kept lying under the table near my feet while eating a little bone that she had bought for him. As I read the news in the paper, I heard the sound of keys against the door. She had arrived. Finally. The dog ran madly to greet her. I could hear her laugh.

I heard her footsteps until she emerged. I could see the weariness on her face. There were small dark circles around her green eyes. She had a sleepy expression. Her blond hair was a little messy as long, I knew she got her hands on it, she did it a lot when she was anxious. Hayley wore a blue shirt beneath a gray sweatshirt and jeans. Her cross bag was on her shoulder and with her other hand she had a cup of coffee.

"Look who just turned up. Good morning, wife.” I said taking a sip of coffee. She giggled and left her bag in the chair.

"Good Morning." She messed with me smiling. She kissed me and tried to pulled away, but I brought her close to another kiss. "Is this coffee fresh?"

"Mary just did it. You're smelling like disinfectant.” I observed and she smelled her t-shirt, before shrugging.

"I can not drink that” she said filling her glass with orange juice. Hayley sat down in front of me and filled her plate with pancakes.

"Are you going back to the hospital?" I asked.

“No god. My shift is over. I just left from a surgery now. Do you know how many I operated on yesterday? 8. 3 died.” She told me. Hayley spoke of death so naturally as if she were a friend of hers.

“I asked Bryan to take the dog later to the pet shop."

"What does he have?" Hayley peered under the table.

"Anything. He just need a bath. Linda is coming to clean the house today,” I informed her, filling my mug with more coffee. Hayley left her pancake dish empty.

"Please tell her not to clean our room. I want to sleep.” She got up and went into the bedroom. I heard the sound of the bed as she threw herself into it. I sighed and got up holding my coat as I followed her into the bedroom. I could hear perfectly the rhythm of her heartbeat and her breaths in the dark. I turned the switch softly until there was light enough so that it would not bother her. I saw across the room Hayley sleeping still in her work clothes clinging to a pillow.

"Lily called." I sat beside her on the bed. "She could not talk to you so she called me. She said it was important."

"I'll call her later." She replied with her eyes closed.

"I think I'd better call her now. She was very desperate.” I picked up her phone and handed it to her. Hayley sighed and took the cell phone. "Do not sleep too much. I come back for dinner.” I kissed her cheek and got up to leave.

"Lily, what's up?" I could listen Hayley’s voice on the room when I got to the door.

Hayley’s pov

“Lily, what's up?” I asked rubbing my eyes when she answered my call.

"Hayley! I'm glad you called me, I've been calling you all day. Something terrible happened!” Lily said. “Our apartment is destroyed!”

#choices you play #bb #bloodbound #mc x kamilah #kamilah sayeed

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